TOP106-DES103
This Old Poem #106:
Kate Light’s After The Season
Copyright © by Dan Schneider, 1/22/05

  Kate Light is a very talented poet who has a shot to be a poet that is read in a century or 2 from now. She is a classical love poet whose modernity puts her in a direct line from Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Christina Rossetti to Edna St. Vincent Millay to herself. She is 1 of the few published poets that seems to have fun with wordplay & at her best her poetry is infectious- especially when she confines it to the strictures of form. There, her breeziness has a spine & when it stretches it does so ground in a soil that does not let her overreach.
  Here is an example of an excellent poem:

Reading Someone Else's Love Poems

is after all. All we've ever done
for centuries - except write them - but what
a strange thing it is, after all, rose cheeks and sun-
hair and lips, and underarms, and that little gut
I love to nuzzle on, soft underbelly - oops -
that wasn't what I meant to talk about;
ever since handkerchiefs fell, and hoop-
skirts around ankles swirled
and smiled, lovers have dreamed their loves upon
the pages, courted and schemed and twirled
And styled, hoping that once they'd unfurled their down-
deep longing, they would have their prize -
not the songs of love, but love beneath disguise.

  All the playfulness of hyphenated words & line ends keeps the reader off guard & almost a-tizzy until the emotion gut punch of the last line forces the reader to re-read the poem to see how such a wallop gathers its force.
  Here is another poem- this 1 a sonnet- which also makes delightful use of its line ends to tweak the relentless avant gardism of wannabe hipsters & artistes. As you read it listen to the smooth rhythms of the lines as they contrast with the rather dense thoughts KL packs into the piece.

San Francisco

Pierced tongue. Do-it-yourself lisp.
What is this? Penitence? Native Wisdom
Mutilation? or signal: I'll do anything.
Was it a dare? or a careful plan? Did it Sting
Or ache - and does the food get caught -
And should such a person work in a restaurant?
Customers' stomachs can turn - or does desire
Turn to her - to wish - to feel the fire
Glide over the silver (or is it gold?) pin?
And you, my darling, with your end-
less speculation: is he - is she - gay?
Does he or she want you - or me either way?

Why do you need to know? I am here.
This is my body; eat Unwrap. Disappear.
 

  Unfortunately, KL’s best work appeared in her 1st book & subsequent poems that have appeared in magazines & online have not been as good. There could be a few reasons for this- 1) she’s peaked & it’s all downhill from here on. 2) like many rock bands her 1st book contained her well-honed ‘Best Of’ poems from the years before her published debut, while subsequent poems have been her feeble attempt to fill enough pages for subsequent books, without the years of polish that went into book 1, or 3) she simply has not the time in her busy life to produce enough quality poems, or 4) a combination of the 1st 3 reasons.
  This is because KL is not a poet 1st- but a Classical violinist. Here is 1 of her many online bios:

  Kate Light is a violinist in the New York City Opera and is involved in modern dance and theater. Her books are The Laws of Falling Bodies, co-winner of the 1997 Nicholas Roerich Prize from Story Line Press, and Open Slowly, Zoo Press, 2003. Her poetry has appeared in The Paris Review, Janus, Hellas, The Christian Science Monitor, Hudson Review, Dark Horse, Feminist Studies, Washington Post Book World, Feminist Studies, Confrontation, Barrow Street, Carolina Quarterly, Wisconsin Review, Sparo, Western Humanities Review, Rattapallax, The Formalist, and The Penguin Book of the Sonnet, among other publications, and has been featured on Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac. She has recently completed Oceanophony, a full-length family concert piece for narrator and chamber ensemble in collaboration with composer Bruce Adolphe. Oceanophony premiered in August 2003 at SummerFest La Jolla and will be published as book and CD.

  In addition to all that she has a website that all lovers of good poetry should check out: http://openslowly.home.mindspring.com/. If you want to contact her go ahead: emailkate@mindspring.com. At her best it is apparent to see how her love of music & form affects her poetry. In a superficial way she seems a bit like Amy Clampitt. The difference is that while Clampitt had nice rhythms in her poetry they were almost always style over substance- a hummingbird’s wings that zipped, but lent no depth. KL’s poems go beyond AC’s when she is at her best.
  When she’s off her game it yield’s pointless exercise poems like this:

Greg's Legs

are long
strong
exhalations
of bone
and soft fur
draped all over
her;
unless
he is alone,
in which case
erase
all thought
of "draped"; they're not,
but laid
splayed
or folded to rest
in a nest
of down and cotton.
She's gotten
attached
to those thatched
legs
of Greg's,
no explanations,
confess-
ions or commentary
required
by her.
On the contrary.
She's never tired
of the extreme-
ly long fe-
mur,
and the thigh
rising high
to hook
into the nook
of pelvic socket.
And what of
her love
for the pocket
on the other end:
the bend
above
the clavicle
where the hollow dips
could store paper clips
in some radical
yet ancient
design?
Or her penchant
for the line
of spine,
or running down
the crown,
or going to town
on feeling
everything  

 

  Now, some will counter that it’s unfair to pick on her worst- 1 should point to the best. I disagree for I ask- why publish a poem like this outside of a retrospective Complete Poems? Yes, all poets, myself included, have written such poems. The point is I don’t plunk this out in a magazine or book, thereby denoting it worthy of public consumption. It’s tempting to judge artists & craftsmen only by their zenith but a fairer assessment of the plenum of an individual’s scope can be attained only by a scan through their entire endorsed proffering to the public. This is how we know if an artist truly understood what they were doing or were merely tossing darts at a board. The artist who crafted a dozen great works of art out of a lifetime’s work of 40 pieces could therefore be argued the greater artist than the 1 who may have 20 great works, but claims 1000 in their corpus. How does 1 weigh the 980 misses of the greater bulk of greatness vs. the 28  misses of the more attuned artist? It’s an age-old question.
  Let’s now trim a poem of hers that is excessive in its length & thereby loses its power. This is an extended loose villanelle whose use of clichés (underlined) is not undermined by the form- merely exacerbated:

 

After The Season

Do not talk to me just now; let me be.
We were up to our ears in pain and loss, and so
I am reuniting all the lovers, fishing the drowned from the sea.

I am removing daggers from breasts and re-
zipping. Making it clear who loves whom—please go.
Do not talk to me just now; let me be.

I am redistributing flowers and potions and flutes, changing key;
rewriting letters, pulling spring out of the snow.
I am reuniting all the lovers, fishing the drowned from the sea.

I am making madness sane, setting prisoners free,
cooling the consumptive cheek, the fevered glow.
Do not talk to me just now; let me be.

Pinkerton and Butterfly make such a happy
couple; Violetta has five gardens now to show...
I am reuniting all the lovers, fishing the drowned from the sea.

The jester and his daughter have moved to a distant city.
Lucia colors her hair now, did you know?
Come, let us talk, sit together and be
lovers reunited, fished like the drowned from the sea.

 

  The solution is obvious- condense the poem & trim the triteness:

 

After The Season

I am removing daggers from breasts and re-
zipping. Making it clear who loves whom—please go.
Do not talk to me just now; let me be.

I am redistributing flowers and potions and flutes, changing key;
rewriting letters, pulling spring out of the snow.
I am reuniting the lovers, fishing the drowned from what will be.

I am making sadness plain, setting prisoners free,
cooling the consumptive cheek, the fevered know.
Do not talk to me just now; let me be.
 
The jester and his daughter have moved to a distant city.
Lucia colors her hair now, did you know?
Come, let us talk, sit together and be
lovers disunited, fished like the drowned from what will be.

  Clichés damned, poem trimmed to a villanellean sonnet, & best of all, the potential bathos is gone, & replaced with the expectancy of cliché, but only that. Explain this to Kate when you email her. Ciao!

Final Score: (1-100):

Kate Light’s After The Season: 72
TOP’s After The Season: 90

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