Seven Days needs your support!
Give NowIf you're looking for "I Spys," dating or LTRs, this is your scene.
View ProfilesPublished July 12, 2023 at 10:00 a.m. | Updated July 12, 2023 at 12:02 p.m.
With the number of books in print increasing every year, book awards play the vital role of highlighting volumes that otherwise could elude notice in the ongoing avalanche of publications. New releases may get a brief spate of attention, but books stay in print and circulation only because readers keep passing them around, booksellers and librarians recommend them, and teachers assign them. A prize can lift an excellent book into view, and being in the neighborhood of the winner as a "finalist" can elicit the curiosity that draws more readers.
On May 6, the 2022 Vermont Book Award in poetry — chosen by a jury of local writers, readers, editors, librarians and booksellers — went to Bianca Stone's What Is Otherwise Infinite. While Seven Days reviewed Stone's book in January 2022, the short list for the award alerted us to two other notable poetry collections: Yearn by Rage Hezekiah and What Happens Next Is Anyone's Guess by Carol Potter.
Hezekiah is the associate director of academic and international student services at Bennington College and the author of two previous collections, Stray Harbor and the chapbook Unslakable. Before being named a Vermont Book Award finalist, Yearn was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award and the Audre Lorde Award for Lesbian Poetry.
Yearn is largely retrospective, as poem after poem summons and reenacts the careening, unapologetic chaos of youthful sensuality: the mischief and menace of drugs or the sway of eros, bodies combining by choice or impulse. In "Remembrance," Hezekiah recalls "how / a teenage heart ravages— / renders you helpless."
Most of the poems in Yearn are slender, taut as a stretched cord, and each arrives at completion with an abrupt finality. Along the way, the collection may feel more like a set of individual pieces placed one by one than a developing, deepening sequence. The thematic similarities among poems are very noticeable — repetitive, even obsessively so, as if the poet's aim is to emphasize the centripetal self-centeredness of youth.
In these poems, sensations are sacramental and danger revelatory, but risks may have consequences. There are poems about lust that are more likely to jolt than titillate a reader, and there are elegies for the casualties. Looking back from a still-perilous vantage in "Capricorn Season," the poet writes, "I haven't learned / not to vibrate with want, / ... I want only this— / to be insatiable."
Then, in the collection's third and culminating section, a steady lover is introduced. A poem called "Married Sex" describes allowing for, tending and even scheduling a more settled erotic pleasure: "We are young enough, / our bodies alert. Yes, please, / I want to have sex. Let's / mark the calendar. Let's shower." The book's final poem, "Poem for My Uterus," is a somber, measured expression of desire to be a vessel for birth: "you // worried carafe ... sweet doomed hovel // show me ... what you need ... to make a life."
The urgency of Hezekiah's title Yearn has finally shifted, from the raw wanting of someone "barely twenty" to the wholehearted, deliberative longing of a potential parent. The last poems in this book are different in tone and shape, perhaps anticipating ones yet to be written.
Carol Potter grew up on a dairy farm in Connecticut, resided for years in western Massachusetts and then in Los Angeles, and now lives in the Northeast Kingdom. The author of five previous books of poems, including Some Slow Bees (2015), winner of the FIELD Poetry Prize; and Otherwise Obedient (2007), she teaches in the low-residency MFA program of Antioch University Los Angeles and at Community College of Vermont, and works as a writing coach and manuscript editor. Her new book won the Pacific Coast Poetry Series award from its publisher, Beyond Baroque.
In What Happens Next Is Anyone's Guess, Potter's poems have a jaunty stride, and she riffs like an improvising musician with rhymes and boomeranging repetitions. Listen to this, from "There Being a Dank Cellar":
When she insisted on cranking up the music,
twirling that hank of hair in her hands, the wet
flank of her face thanking us for the chance to
rock and roll though the house stank of must,
there was water sloshing in the dank cellar
as if the whole thing were some kind of tank
and whatever sank, sank ...
Many of Potter's poems employ logical prose phrasing and syntax, and they proceed like narratives, but they resist obvious outcomes, instead veering — as dreams do — into zany chases with unforeseen swerves. There's a long, wild tradition of poems that aim to show how our routine nighttime hallucinations move, but Potter doubles the effect: In her poem "Some Details & Procedures," she describes a dream inside another dream.
These poems are frequently funny, and the crux — the point of maximum passion or poignancy — is usually in the midst of a poem instead of at the end, creating an uncanny (and unusual) effect that propels a reader from each piece to the next one.
This book offers a story, that of a smart, alert, articulate woman on the cusp of finding herself even as she's seen as "older"; one predicament after another reminds her that life won't go as planned.
Some of the poems in What Happens Next Is Anyone's Guess are verse and some are prose, but in Potter's hands, these two modes differ less from each other than they would in those of many writers. Throughout the book, regardless of the lineation, Potter plays with syncopated rhythms and syllabic echoes. She's made a panegyric in praise of unpredictability, and her book's title is the best possible evocation of its spirit.
While neither of these collections got the prize, the Vermont Book Awards' poetry jury has provided a path to two fine volumes that ought not be overlooked.
You've nodded out at dinner again,
having just used or needing more—
the shell of you collapsing, I want to trust
your alphabet of lies, my denial a cardigan
pulled over brown shoulders. I console you
like a mother, I know, love, I know.
At the Thai restaurant, I push
slippery noodles and steamed vegetables
around my plate, watch you bob—
a broken machine, slow-motion hand
torpid towards your fork. You can't
seem to find your mouth so I
flag down our waitress, who pretends
not to notice you're boneless. She presses
our leftovers into neat, white boxes,
a perfect fit. Outside, August marinates
our skin, evaporates my compassion. I stand
under streetlights in a yellow dress,
fling expletives at you, wet artillery
rolls off your shrugging shoulders. You
are enemy, slumped into yourself,
an accident. I want to push you
into traffic, make you disappear—
until I remember you want that too.
They brought my replacement in while
I was still in place. Here's the desk you'll be
sitting in, here's the chair. This is the view. Here's
the pens and pencils. I knew something
was going on exactly when something was going on.
I put my favorite pens and pencils off to the side
so the new person wouldn't ever touch them.
These are the children in the picture frames you
will be seeing on your desk, the supervisor said.
Here's the screen and the keyboard. Here's the
hand sanitizer. This is where you put your boots.
Where you put snacks you shouldn't be eating.
Here you go. I thought the new person replacing
me had a nice face. She was smiling. How we do
smile first day on the job. We smile and we nod
making sure everyone knows we'll be going along
with the program. My replacement shook my hand.
It's not every day you get to do that. Check out
your replacement. Give her the keys to the office.
Clean out the cup she'll be drinking from.
Show her where everything's kept.
The original print version of this article was headlined "Yearnings and Surprises | Book reviews: Yearn, Rage Hezekiah, and What Happens Next Is Anyone's Guess, Carol Potter"
Comments are closed.
From 2014-2020, Seven Days allowed readers to comment on all stories posted on our website. While we've appreciated the suggestions and insights, right now Seven Days is prioritizing our core mission — producing high-quality, responsible local journalism — over moderating online debates between readers.
To criticize, correct or praise our reporting, please send us a letter to the editor or send us a tip. We’ll check it out and report the results.
Online comments may return when we have better tech tools for managing them. Thanks for reading.