Un-light light verse

The subtitle to this anthology is ‘Poems of what never happened, and of the end of things that did’. Then, on the back-cover of this palm-size chapbook, the reader is informed:

All the poems are formal. These poems are memorable in part because they rhyme and scan, as all truly memorable poetry does. We subscribe to the use of form, no matter how formless the times in which we live.

I am not woman enough to step anywhere near the debate concerning the role of form in contemporary poetry — or in poetry of any period for that matter.

However, regardless of their formal execution, another aspect that makes these poems memorable is the fact that the harder they seem to be jaunty and sassy and devil-may-care, the sadder they make me feel. The harder they seem to crack jokes, the less I feel like laughing.

For example, in ‘Glimpse of Love’ by Vera Ignatowitsch, after being beguiled by someone shy and demure — after finding her reticence alluring — the narrator confesses:

Pursuit revealed, in time, that Cupid
had simply sent me someone stupid.

And in ‘So It Rolls’ by Cody Walker, after speaking of someone described as intellectual but ineffectual —

She says she won’t leave him for reasons sexual, but
in effect she will.

Under their brave exteriors, the people in these poems are hurt, vulnerable and — dare I suggest — they are (as we have all done) lying to save face. And talking of face, the narrator of ‘Triolet to a Perceptive Girl’ (by David Whippman) says

They penetrate my thin disguise;
I cannot hide my soul from you.
They see so much, your sparkling eyes —
That’s why, you nosey bitch, we’re through.

Hands up anyone who’s laughing.

And if you are, is it a body-shaking belly chuckle? Or is it a rueful sigh-laugh of recognition?

Sue Butler