  |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
||
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
||||
 |
|||||
 |
|||||
| Iced at the Ward, Burned at the Stake | |||||
CONTENTS
* * * * * Iced at the Ward, Burned at the Stake and Other Poems is, in its originality of word and idea, an extraordinary debut collection. As a poet, Paul Swenson is more than an echo in name of his famous sister, the late May Swenson. They have in common a playful wit, a probing intellect, and a prodigal imagination, but Paul has found his own voice and manner and wrestles with his own angels and demons within Mormon beliefs and institutions. Iconoclastic on the surface, the poems belie a religious depth, a searching for truth beneath the stereotypes of his professed Mormonism. The very title of the collection, an outrageous pun, is symbolic. It is at once witty and profound. From "Earth Mother" as prologue—she who "On creation's morning / put the kettle on"—we realize that we are in for a series of amazements. The four divisions ("Zion's Glad Morning," "strange gods," "Body and Soul," "Black Is the Color") are meaningful, and the titles of individual poems evocative ("Black Moroni," for example, and "Jesus, Lost"), allowing for dynamic juxtapositions, sometimes playful, often ironic. Indeed, ironies are the poet's hallmark—time and again a poem's resolution—the safety valve of his angers. Evocations of race and divine gender haunt the collection in poems which combine sweet reason and rebellion. Topical allusions are rich in metaphor; many are strictly contemporary, naming persons and describing situations in real time as in the title poem (the candle vigils on behalf of friends disfellowshipped and excommunicated) and "No Balm in Gilead" (the effects on three lives of radiation fallout at ground zero in the Nevada tests). The poet's anguish over shortcomings in his church and community, the American government and society, usually expressed in short lines like stubby fingers jabbing home his truths, is matched by an unexpected tenderness and gentility in poems celebrating cherished traditions as in "Table, Turned" and "Family Plot." Overall, his perspectives are transcendental, combining ancient scripture and modern times in a bold vernacular diction and an arresting imagery. "The Prophet Debbie," for example, is nothing less than a feminine Nephite legend. Paul Swenson is a master of entre nous satire. Mormon readers have an advantage. No church-goers can miss the associations of "forever families," "uncorrelated," "eternal digression," "in her cellar a two-year supply of love," or "[wedding] dresses of disallowed desire." He dusts off cliches of doctrine and belief, stands them on edge, and enables us to see them afresh, often in a comedic light. Conservative readers may be shocked by seeming irreverence; free spirits will be delighted by its risks. Some poems are so cerebral (shades of sister May), they demand second and third readings. For all its dangers, there is some humor in "Redacted," a poem about the writing process: "Or say that now she's [the editor] found her way / inside a poem, what / would she do then?" In Paul's world "Gershwin [comes] to church on Mother's Day," brides emerging from the Temple at Main and North Temple are "like / a filigree on commerce and cement," Dalmatian car seat covers "yelp," "philosophers stir a cosmic porridge," a jet trail is "a streak of cosmic Colgate," and dissidents "get the hots for heresy." "Exejesus" is an obvious pun on scriptural exegesis, while "Aikido Not"—a critique of preemptive war—becomes "I kid you not." The general reader (and I hope there will be many), without immediate access to certain allusions, can enjoy the unusual imagery and know that some mischief is afoot. The poet himself says that "clever never lasts," but the collection offers emotional and intellectual depth, often charged with sexual energy. There are few traditional lyrics, but "Nightshine," "Brides of the Afternoon," "Jesus, Lost," "Motherless Child," and "Rapid Water," poems with lengthened lines and sustained development, move to their own music. Here from "Rapid Water," the name of a blue paint chosen for a couple's bedroom: "If only paint on bedroom walls could cauterize / the hurt, could seal the pitted surface of the heart." From "Table, Turned," the story of an heirloom round oak table restored and shipped to California, Lisa, the poet's niece, "waits to set her table in a new yet old tradition: / Seder, Passover, High Holy Days, give praise." In these scenes the language is dignified, respectful, and deeply moving. Central to the poet's ecumenicity and his work's embrace of body and soul is "St. Margaret at St. Mark's" which celebrates "an historic meeting of Caldieros / and Toscanos ... / a combustion of theology, art, poetry, laughter; / language of the body and of the soul. Beware / those ethnic Mormons whose names end in a vowel." That combustion describes what goes on in the whole collection. "Family Plot," a sustained prose poem, concludes the volume. In it, the poet speculates on a reunion in the hereafter (in the Logan cemetery) when he will sit on sister May's bench and listen to her read her latest poems. Given the power of the present collection, with the promise of more to come, we can amend the poet's wish: we see him reading his own poems to May, who will find him doubly a kindred spirit. * * * * * Poet Paul Swenson finds a font of inspiration in church. One poem ("Exejesus") was written entirely while sitting in a pew, while other poems grew from notes scribbled during services. Meanwhile, repeated exposure to the Sunstone Theological Symposium nurtured "Eternal Digression," excerpted here:
|
|