I went to a reading last night at the Whitney, hosted and organized by Ernie Hilbert, editor of NowCulture (among other things). He had invited 4 authors to come and read their stuff. Suzanne Wise was one of them. I came across one of her poems maybe 3 years ago and it got my attention. Most modern poetry doesn’t get my attention at all. But there was something confident and haunting about her voice … and it wasn’t of the “Oh, the rain falls, and my heart is breaking” variety.
She does have a book of poetry out, called The Kingdom of the Subjunctive. The Whitney had a table of the authors’ books, including Wise’s, so I bought one. I’m so excited! I am familiar with perhaps three of the poems in the book (because of Ernie), but the rest are unknown and I can’t wait to read them all.
Here’s one of her poems. It’s called “Advice”. It just kills me.
Advice
It is time for you to stop trying to be so smart.
It is time to abandon those plans for aqueducts,
canals, sewers. It is time to burn your boats,
to jump into the next free dinghy, to run
yourself aground on foreign land. It is time
to smash every inhibition on the shores of progress,
then loll in the rubble, flinging shards of ship
at gulls as you build empires in the sand
beneath a beach umbrella. Basically,
it is time to stop trying so hard.
Instead, lie back and listen to the waves
smashing shells to bits. Think of it
as a chorus goading you to greater heights
or as wild beasts begging to be caged.
Basically, it is time for you to be heard.
Remember to enunciate. Pay attention
to vowels, the way they seduce
regardless of the words they inhabit.
Recognize how the names of things
slide off their thingness like fried fish
from an oily plate. Smell the fishy fragrance,
injected into the steamy air by the mere
mention of dinner. Fondle your imaginary
skillet. How hard and dark and hot it is.
This is just the beginning of your power.
You wilil find new oceans, you will reside
in a do-or-die mode. This is not necessarily
a problem and thus the ironic, absurdist tone
you have become accustomed to
must also be abandoned. You must be
patient. You must quietly await
your one authentic voice. As Pound said,
quoting Beardsley: Beauty is slow.
For me, on the other hand, it is over,
politically, and as a human being.
I will never talk about myself again.
I will be taciturn, modest.
You will continue to look at me
from the outside and not know
what I have suffered. Still,
it may be difficult to forget
that I have been your leader.
It is this indebtedness
that will define you
as my greatest joy.
