HEART: COLLECTED POEMS 1975-2024 by Michael Poage offers a rare opportunity to trace a poet’s evolution over time. Much of his work is spare and philosophical but still capable of profound impact, as in this early poem from BORN, his 1975 collection:
The First Person with Skin
The fog
she thought would cover
her bones
was only a tongue,
a door.
In these few short lines, Poage contrasts the expectation of protection with the discovery of vulnerability and openness. I enjoyed finding another poem much later in the book (from 2001’s GOD WON’T OVERLOOK US) that reminded me of “The First Person with Skin”:
Slipping Into Something Comfortable
She took off her clothes.
It was that simple.
In this later poem, the subject is at ease in her own skin. These pieces may seem only tangentially related, but one of the delights of reading Poage’s collected works is finding poems published many years apart that speak to one another—each enriched by the conversation. These pieces also illustrate the author’s knack for making his titles do much of the work; the titles are the key to understanding these two poems.
Poage’s poetry is lyrical but features plenty of concrete detail and vivid description, with poems set in varied locations, including Kansas, Bosnia (where he spends time teaching each year) and Gaza.
Two of my favorite pieces evoked radically different emotions. A poem late in the book, “a swarm of bees”, which is dedicated to George Floyd, chilled me to the bone. The poem is literally about a video of a swarm of bees, but the figurative meaning as we interpret it in the context of George’s Floyd’s tragic case resonates deeply. The bees are “moving barely enough / to notice.” But the speaker notices “the sound. a / grinding, slow business / cooking above your head.” From there the poem builds to a powerful and haunting conclusion.
Another favorite, “Loose Change” stirred happier feelings. The poem describes a coffee date in a book store between a woman and the poem’s speaker. The language is erotically charged throughout, from these early lines—“you came up behind me. / I felt the light touch / of your breasts through / your blouse and my shirt / against my back” to the closure: “you slipped your hands / into my front pants pockets. / You were not searching / for nickels or dimes.”
As might be expected in a collection that spans fifty years and includes fourteen books, these poems cover a wide range of subjects. There is much more to discover than I have mentioned here. Don’t be intimidated by the length of the book (900+ pages). You can start at the beginning and read the book chronologically, or you can dip in at any point and emerge with core samples from different eras of Michael Poage’s poetry. Both methods yield rich rewards.
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