The poems are all free verse, with considerable variation in terms of line length, lineation, and stanzas. Skinny poems appear opposite prose poems. The language is simple and unadorned\u2014as though you were sitting down with a good friend for a cup of coffee on a lazy afternoon. That\u2019s not to say that Lim\u00f3n is deaf to the sensuality of language. Many poems display a subtle gift for alliteration and echolalia, with lines like \u201cI\u2019m cold in my heart, coal-hard,\u201d \u201cWitness the wet dead snake,\u201d or \u201cA bat cracks in the flickering background.\u201d But in general, the diction is distinctly unpoetic, as evidenced by these first lines, selected mostly at random: \u201cSix horses died in a tractor-trailer fire,\u201d \u201cI lied about the whales,\u201d \u201cLast night we killed a possum,\u201d and \u201cMy ex got hit by a bus.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
If Lim\u00f3n has a spirit animal, it must be the horse. Growing up near Sonoma, she would\u2019ve encountered lots of them. She finds them, too, near her new home in Kentucky, though there they are not the farm workhorses or riding breeds but rather racing thoroughbreds. Are they symbolic in some way? I think it\u2019s more accurate to say that they represent something in the liminal space between wild and domestic, which would certainly appeal to a poet with a somewhat rural upbringing. They further convey a sense of joy and exuberance at simply being alive and fully inhabiting your own body. My favorite poem in the collection, \u201cThe Wild Divine,\u201d starts in the rush and fumble of teenage lust, in the \u201cluck of a first love and a first full-fledged fuck,\u201d and shifts to focus on \u201ca wandering \/ madrone-skinned horse from the neighbor\u2019s garden.\u201d The energy of the first part of the poem, packed with description and very little punctuation, is essentially tamed in the second part, where that \u201cwise, hoofed, grizzled, equine elder\u201d lumbers in with a saddlebag of commas. In this way, the form echoes the brief passion and lazy afterglow that is presented in the narrative. Note, too, that wonderful adjective, \u201cmadrone-skinned,\u201d which carries extra nuance, coming from a poet of Mexican heritage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, it might be obvious by now that I am not entirely enamored of this book. While I find much to admire, it checks off too many items on my list of poetic turn-offs. For example, the use of \u201cso\u201d as an adverb: \u201cso many people,\u201d \u201cI made the house so clean,\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s so small,\u201d \u201cso many different ways.\u201d You can\u2019t get much more lazy as a poet. In a genre built upon the notion that every word is essential, it\u2019s inexcusable to use filler words. No serious poet would use the word \u201cvery\u201d; the word \u201cso\u201d falls in the same category.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Many poems address an unnamed \u201cyou.\u201d For example, \u201cI think of you, home \/ with the dog,\u201d or \u201cyour mother said she wasn\u2019t sure \/ if one of your ancestors died in childbirth.\u201d \u201cYou stopped at a friend\u2019s \/ body shop to talk about a buddy.\u201d \u201dYou\u2019ve gone to get us gas-station coffee.\u201d \u201cI decide, \/ someday, to name a kid Levon, and you \/ agree.\u201d Every time I encounter this construction, I think, \u201cSorry, I think you’re confusing me with somebody else. We\u2019ve never actually met.\u201d A poem can be a love letter to life, but it should not be a letter to your lover. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Similarly, Lim\u00f3n often makes reference to people that the reader can\u2019t be expected to know: \u201cHe\u2019s betting \/ in the living room, \/ which T calls \/ the drinks room.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s been exactly two months since \/ C died.\u201d \u201cI think of that walk in the Valley where J said, You don\u2019t believe in God<\/em>?\u201d \u201cI ran into T, and we decided we needed \/ to drink.\u201d Is this a poem, or a redacted FBI dossier? <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m also no fan of parentheses in poems: \u201c(All the new bugs.)\u201d \u201cthinking this pain will \/ go on forever (even though it won\u2019t).\u201d \u201cThe mistake \/\/ I made was getting out of the car \/ (you told me not to).\u201d \u201cThey gave her a goat to take to the outhouse \/\/ (not for protection but for offering).\u201d \u201cWe both know they crack, \/ (Don\u2019t we?)\u201d A phrase or concept is either needed or it\u2019s not; there\u2019s no reason to be coy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then of course there\u2019s the easy reliance on non sequitur<\/em>. I understand this is popular nowadays, and one could argue it\u2019s a reflection of the era, in which linear thinking seems reactionary and reality itself seems disjointed. But to me it just feels timid\u2014a way to avoid contemplating difficult ideas or engaging the reader. It essentially says, \u201cI probably can\u2019t hold your attention with my line of thought, so I\u2019ll try to hold it by confusing you.\u201d Take these first lines from \u201cHome Fires,\u201d for example:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Six lines in, and I defy anyone to explain what this poem is about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The conversational tone is ultimately a problem for me, too. Frank O\u2019Hara made it work most of the time, but I can\u2019t think of many other poets who could. Art should rise above the commonplace, the ordinary, and make use of those techniques the are unique to the genre. I\u2019m not saying all poetry should invoke \u201chigh diction,\u201d but if it sounds like that woman at the next table talking on the phone, it just makes me want to sit somewhere else.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ada Lim\u00f3n: Bright Dead Things We have a new national poet laureate: Ada Lim\u00f3n. I was familiar with the name, but could not recall reading any poems\u2014at least nothing that stuck with me. So I grabbed a copy of Bright … Continue reading ![](\"https:\/\/images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com\/images\/I\/41dKM5yK1QL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg\")
<\/a>Landscape and locale often figure prominently, though Lim\u00f3n is by no means a Nature poet. Rather, what comes across is a sense of place, of belonging or of longing to belong. In \u201cThe Last Move,\u201d she laments about \u201chow south we were, far away in the outskirts,\u201d further noting, \u201cThis is Kentucky, not New York, and I am not important.\u201d This general theme, of location and dislocation, is most prominent in the first section of the book, though it also informs the remaining sections. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I fold the aqua blanket twice to stay alive.
Headstones in the heart’s holler, sludge
of what’s left after the mountain’s blasted.
Not a kid anymore, there are no pretty victims
or greasy cavernous villains spitting blazes.<\/div>\n\n\n\n