ISBN 978-0-9852133-2-9 review by Raewyn
Alexander
The title put me in mind of someone on
a train, travelling through the state of Virginia and watching it
flow by the locomotive until that particular landscape was gone.
Intrigued, but mistaken, I read at first to find out why this book
was titled this way and also, because I've long enjoyed the poetry of
this inventive, original and startling young writer. We've discussed
writing and each others work online for many years, as colleagues,
and devotees of literature.
Kepple follows in the tradition of
language poets, taking English or really, American and making of it
what he wishes. He reclaims language as an individual, to the extent
that some readers with pedantic leanings may be shocked or horrified.
This upset is calculated and focussed for the most part, creating a
kind of blueprint for a new, more hopeful way of life, we could say.
Kepple's talent is also such that he persuades the reader to keep on,
entertainment ensues amongst other pleasures as rich, engaging and
varied as anyone could wish, even if sometimes this collection is
overwhelming or wildly odd.
The poetry is arranged into three
parts. The poems mainly flow on one from the other without the end of
the page being taken up with white space, after each piece. Where
white page space appears it adds to the meaning or tone of the poem,
rather than standing as a long-held and rather extravagant convention
of traditional formatting.
The introduction by Kim Goransson warns
the reader this collection could seem like too much at times. But I,
for the most part, delighted in how Kepple discards an overly
precious approach to poetry, and instead relishes the chance to allow
the appearance of the written word to work in curious, revolutionary
ways, while also paying respect to language. Genuine humanity is
evident in this verse and a startlingly recognisable, flawed
appearance, without a trace of laziness or pretense. (Although
laziness and pretense do exist in fact, and these poems do make that
clear, with much else besides).
There were times however when I felt
lost, disturbed and horribly alone, then the writing drew me back to
a place of relative safety or at least, familiarity so I felt I could
continue in good heart. Drama and particularly tragedy carries many
verses well.
Word-play, once a reader realises
it's there, is at times truly hilarious, or rather thought-provoking
and undercuts many assumptions, with elan.
'I tell her I'm hungry
ask, or is that to caveman'
- from The Lost Art of Seduction
This maintains a double meaning, a
sense of what the line would mean with 'too' and continues a
persuasive thrust, which is quite possibly to get some food from this
girl, from her 'to caveman', also by the way cleverly admitting his
bluntness, and negating simplicity. Subtly shocking syntax also
destroying the idea that people who cannot spell 'correctly' or use
grammar 'properly' are stupid, since he's using those 'errors' to be
truly clever, subtle and amusing.
Sometimes Kepple uses the word its
to show something belongs to something else more than it is,
could ever possibly explain.
'but its cold behind iron, and I need
you to forge
for its trivial us in such assertions'
- from I just got out of jail
baby
He does this with interchanging 'your'
and you're' and also, 'then' and 'than' as well, along with other
small, often taken-for-granted words which are sprinkled about, a
garnish of diversion or a twist to cause reflection; a swerve in
meaning. But occasionally it seems the mis-spellings are to show a
kind of a person, a character, there is no subtle word play I can
figure.
'and I pass her up wishing I wasnt so
cheap
I suppose its a matter of money these
encounters,'
- from occidental street love
My first impression of the book, after
galloping through it reading the collection entirely in three days
was, it seemed sexy. Not that there is anything much erotic in the
words themselves to any large degree, even if some intimacy is
mentioned, but the maturity, strength and intelligence inherent in
this poetry, along with its wry and also blatant humour impressed me
so much. Other saphiosexual readers could find this work affects them
the same way, intelligence can be so stirring.
An exhilarating sense of a real person
fully engaged with language and what it can do for them also emerges,
a man revealing himself and risking hurt, then also, Kepple reveals
so much while he obscures himself in some kind of camouflage too.
This poetry is a statement about the need to disguise one's
intelligence in these times, perhaps, but showing off to those who
'get it', and also including them? There's some camaraderie involved
here.
TVP got to me. Every time I thought I
could define it, the writing slipped into another gear, or changed
its tone and diversionary tactics, or just enthralled me. A
collection with more to it than what appears at first. The alarming
last section certainly creates various brain storms and mind fevers.
My eyes wide with something close to terror by the end, (which as it
happens is not quite the finish at all, another surprise appears even
there).
Extreme states are going out of fashion
in art, we could say, except for extreme price tags on fine art or
what we could call cheek, (in
American they say, sass). We are told in everyday life,
in countless often banal ways to calm down and carry on, to
contemplate the intellectual rather than indulge the emotional, and
to divide ourselves into easily recognisable groups for familiarity
and comfort. This all subtly done through the way art is presented as
an elite practise, and in its contemporary content being cynically
clear or ironically observed, often expensive and for only the highly
educated, and therefore quite exclusionary. Some mystery permissible
as long as it is so sophisticated it has to be accepted as true,
without explanations dared to be asked for. Thus Virginia Passes as a
collection does pay some respect to that mindset, it has wisdom and
is of this time, (despite some curiously old-fashioned turns of
phrase), while the writing also determines we need more than
coralling or discipline, more than a society of knowing winks and
nods, more than brutality dressed in the finest manner to make it
seem acceptable. We need to feel deeply and explore our existence
fearlessly in order to truly, best live and learn, much of Kepple's
writing appears to show this, convincingly.
The poetry is not as distancing and
obtuse as some other recent verse by more traditional or less risky
poets, it does not pretend it's from somewhere unattainable for most
people. Although so idiosyncratic at times it does appear
unfathomable on first reading in places, I later decided it was like
a wild animal sporting and celebrating itself, beautifully, for its
own sake, in places which suit the particular topic or tone.
I found Kepple eskewing 'the' was often
annoying or unnecessary, although this telegramesque, truncated
language suits the break-neck pace of some of his work. This device
does eventually appear as his genuine voice too, but sometimes the
omission distracts from some beautiful, unexpected line which
follows.
'a troubled troubador
lashed about
on train seat
she can walk
like fallen
plastic on my
feet'
- from train poem #43
Possibly however, that's one of his points, beauty exists obscured by the furious speed we seem to think we are going, time poor and distracted.
Kepple's writing sweeps along with
grand gestures and surprising, momentous images too, often
illustrating contemporary issues along with time-tested, vital
concerns. The symbolism in some poetry could take a reader many
readings and some research to understand, while on the surface
there's a definite narrative thread as well, satisfying to an extent.
'We need incensed sacrifice and
summonings to protect us
For the earth has grown weary of our
consumptive material
identity,
It is past time that its fruits spiritual will go stolen unnoticed,'
- from A Prelude to Ophiuchus
Differently sized type-faces, some
tricky word placements, three sections called in order of appearance
- Book I: Thus Virginia Passes, Book II: Harlem Blues, Book III:
Herald, (the most experimental verse), and no page numbers, we're
reminded throughout that this is not any usual book of poetry. That
even if it does echo some other writers' allusions and literary times
past, in some regard.
The unexpected in a tailor-made,
avant-garde suit, if I had to explain Thus Virginia Passes in an
image. Daring, considered, gloriously individual and with many
twists, turns and puzzles, this first major collection by James
Browning Kepple is recommended. I must admire his bravery, quite
apart from his obvious talent and labour. We need more writers
prepared to register publicly who they really are along with a plea
for privacy and respect, while at the same time saying something else
entirely. Then we remember what matters and grow inspired to stretch
ourselves to trust in our own experience and intelligence, our own
feelings.
Words carefully chosen in the best
order, indeed.
I'm happiest most when
starving unconcerned
and building
fires, do not
monitor
me please
No comments:
Post a Comment