Tag Archives: Forrest Gander

Your Nearness by Forrest Gander (Arc Publications)

Your Nearness by Forrest Gander (Arc Publications)

This unique collection deserves, and requires, many readings so that its profundity and beauty may be fully absorbed and appreciated.

The ideology of Sangam literature underpins the whole of Your Nearness. Sangam – which translates as ‘gathering’, ‘meeting’, ‘fraternity’- strives to transcend boundaries of time and space and involves a gathering of individuals united in spirit, sharing a common vision and seeking meaning and purpose in a state of togetherness. If there are differences, they only enhance the spirit of Sangam.

An essential aspect of Sangam poetics is its focus on an inner realm. ‘Nature’ corresponds with the inner landscape of an individual and extends beyond itself to become a metaphor of the mind. Two sections of Your Nearness are called ‘Sangam Acoustics’. The scholar, N. Manu Chakravarthy, describes them as ‘the blossoming of the Sangam consciousness’ which resonates in India and in the Californian landscape through motifs of  ‘Sea, Mountain, Pastoral, Forest and Wasteland’ which reveal ‘the confluence of the interior and exterior’. 

There are environmental concerns in Your Nearness. ‘Wasteland’ depicts a futuristic scene of grimness. Man,  says Gander, has lost his ‘cadence’ and will regret his ‘petty-righteous cruelties’ revealed, for example,  when the neem tree is ‘without blossoms’. What will it be like, he asks

       If local animals make themselves nocturnal to avoid you, if swarms

                  of laughing thrushes no longer descend from the summit …

       … if this orange lichen – gossiping across borders – blackens,

                curls, and goes silent? (‘In the Mountains’)

It is lichen which provides the central and all-encompassing motif of Your Nearness – lichen which is the synergistic alliance of a fungus and algae or cyanobacteria, lichen which does not grow in polluted land, which is collaborative and transformative so that through asexual reproduction the original organisms, whose merging involves a mutual alteration, are changed utterly.

And it is through lichen, as Forrest Gander feels and describes it, that love and identity combine and embrace. In ‘Twice Alive’  the landscape of nature and the landscape of intimacy are so entwined that the entranced reader also becomes part of the ongoing metamorphosis. (The passages in italics that show the journey are my own).

 In this scene there is a combination of moss, perfume, skin, memory and lichen:

       I crush oak moss between finger and thumb

       for its sweet perfume persistent on

       your skin when I touch your throat, so slow

       to evaporate, the memory of seeing

       sunburst lichen on the sandstone cliff’

presently

       evening finds us at this woods’ edge where

       at a dead oak’s base

       shoestring-rot glimmers, its luminescent

       rhizomes reflected from the eyes

       of a foraging racoon that doesn’t yet sense us

       air ghostly and damp clings

       as we step from our woods

       to look across the field towards the first

       lane of lit houses, their dull pewter

       auras restrained by wet haze

and here we have the total merging of fungi, rain, slime, the beloved’s brown eyes and a sense of mystery and unease

       cordyceps – the brown of your  eyes softened

       with rain and remotely fluorescent – dissolve

       into slime after a few days, whatever we thought

       we were following was following us, its

       intention linked to our own

Many of the most beautiful poems about intimacy in Forrest Gander’s Your Nearness are about this mingling of cells. Here is two verses from ‘Unto Ourselves: to See What’s There’. For me they sum up all the universality, the inner and outer landscapes, the fusing and merging, the transformations:

       Across the cytoplasm of adjacent cells

       goes a signal that turns you towards me, turns

       me into you. We are coupled in quiet

       tumult, convergent arguments, an alien

       rhythm becoming familiar …

       Because excess is what it took

       for us to transform, to effulge. You cast

       your life beyond itself. Can’t you sense me

       within your ecstatic openess

       like rain mingling with red earth?

       Without you I survived and with you

       I live again in radical augmentation

       of identity because we have

       effaced our outer limits, because

       we summoned each other. In you,

       I cast my life beyond itself.

A number of Forrest Gander’s own photographs enhance this finely presented collection. But no review can do justice to the depths of language and spirituality in Your Nearness. Such insights deserve time for participation and sharing. To use the poet’s own word, everything is ‘combinatory’.

Mandy Pannett 28th July 2024

Modern Fog by Chris Emery (Arc Publications)

Modern Fog by Chris Emery (Arc Publications)

Chris Emery has said that, when completing the final details of Modern Fog, his fourth collection, twenty-three years after his first, it felt like another debut: “it feels as if these are the very first words, something spoken under the breath at a crossroads where you scan the bare, disturbed fields and make your choice in the hard wind – to find a new path, to head out again towards that darker line of trees.”

This is because the collection came out of a period of release in terms of his writing in which several new themes emerged. This period of his life began when he left publishing to become Director of Operations of The Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham – “a Marian shrine with its origins in the Middle Ages”. This was a move that he characterised at the time as being one of serving Christ. 

The new themes he found included writing about spirituality, something, he once thought he would never do, and mystery – “the mystery of place, the mystery of the Other, the mystery of ourselves”. Additionally, he had “fallen in love with writing about the natural world”, and the landscape of Norfolk therefore features heavily in these poems.

While he left the Shrine over two years ago and says that “another version of myself has since emerged”, nevertheless Modern Fog, through its “poems about landscape and animals and distant fictions” is primarily a collection about giving up “on who you think you are”, “to become something new, something estranged, maybe even something redeemed from the silly paraphernalia of midlife identity” – a time when a new vulnerability can emerge.

In Radio Nostalgia, his second collection, Emery wrote that:

Together we are a modern fog,

the idea of the better dead, immortalised grey

eyes above subtitled totally idealised dialogue.

The American poet Forrest Gander suggested that Radio Nostalgia “opens a way into wakefulness” with “a stunning lexicon” containing “short phrases stuffed with grit, petrol and spleen”, as Emery refuses to look away from “a twenty-first century so wounded and blout that only the language that crawls over it shimmers with its implicit hope for transformation and redemption”. This description also seems relevant to Modern Fog; both in style and intent.

Now Emery writes of ‘six hundred years of stone / that break upon the modern fog’. In doing so, he is writing of St Helen’s Ranworth, the ‘Cathedral of the Broads’, around and within which he journeys in a sequence of twelve tower-shaped poems that form a central pillar to this collection. 

As he views the panel paintings of the twelve Apostles at St Helen’s he marvels:

                                    how

it has survived its own cause

and downfall to reach us, the story that

holds the story, the matter of it

that reaches us from a common tree,

a thriving binding root.

‘Ranworth sheds / its gold deliveries’ and these include:

Back there, inside the vestigial,

apostles of the inundation

stand neatly pinned in oak,

thin light knits, then spreads.

As a result, he wants ‘to stitch my dark / to yours inside a river ritual’:

         Something the walls may 

register above the dry piscina there

a thousand years from now.

Something I will not understand

but still impart.

‘The Path’ seems to sum up most fully the journey he undertakes in this collection as he and his companion go ‘picking their way / through whin and leaf mould along the path’. They walk along ‘dirt paths alone’ through ‘all that hot wheat falling / and chalk beds, the clay beds, sinking / through each gold afternoon’ up ‘to the king oak’:

         Somehow we will reach it, planting a quarterstaff

         to recognise a new path …

         I have led you here through all possible music

         for something we cannot wholly know

         and you will pull up my hand and kiss it

         and carefully we walk on.

John Hartley Williams, to whom Emery’s work has sometimes been compared, wrote that Emery ‘possesses an attack vocabulary and has the ambition to think the unthinkable’. With this collection, as it follows Emery’s own path, it may be that intuitions of spirituality in sacred spaces become the unthinkable that is experienced, shaped and shared.

Jonathan Evens 13th February 2024

Panic Cure, Poetry from Spain for the 21st Century

Panic Cure, Poetry from Spain for the 21st Century

Edited and translated by Forrest Gander (Shearsman Books 2014).

On Monday 24th March I attended the book launch of this terrific collection; it was held in the Auditorio del Instituto Cervantes de Londres and two of the poets, Pilar Fraile Amador and Esther Ramón read in Spanish from the volume. They were accompanied by Forrest Gander who read from his translations.

 

Well, when it was suggested that ‘genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood’ Mr Eliot was absolutely spot on the mark. I don’t know very much Spanish: I was deeply moved. The readings communicated an urgency that mattered and I was quite spell-bound.

 

The book itself contains poems by ten contemporary poets and it is prefaced by a fine introduction written by Daniel Aguirre-Orteiza of Harvard University. As he says about this selection: it ‘justifies itself by its peculiar foreignness’ and its guiding principle is the translator’s ‘understanding of innovation, as defined by his acute ear as an American translator who seeks out the restless, inquiring voices now proliferating that unbounded linguistic space many Mexican and US poets are creating as we speak’.

 

From Hedge by Amador:

 

a shadow lingers behind the door. sour as those lemons we drip with

honey to eat.

we are a lump growling under the sheets. soaked purple. the source of

our pain unclear.

 

From Cattle by Ramón:

 

In the horse dump everything’s ready for rendering.

 

They flicked on the emergency lights and no one knew if they were

running to get there or to get away.

 

Ian Brinton 29th March 2014