{"id":478,"date":"2017-06-18T19:42:07","date_gmt":"2017-06-18T23:42:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/?p=478"},"modified":"2017-06-18T19:42:07","modified_gmt":"2017-06-18T23:42:07","slug":"review-of-les-fauves-by-barbara-crooker","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/?p=478","title":{"rendered":"Review of Les Fauves by Barbara Crooker"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Crooker-cover.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft wp-image-479 size-medium\" src=\"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Crooker-cover-194x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"194\" height=\"300\" srcset=\"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Crooker-cover-194x300.jpg 194w, https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Crooker-cover.jpg 243w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 194px) 100vw, 194px\" \/><\/a>Barbara Crooker. <em>Les Fauves. <\/em>C &amp; R Press, 2017. 75 pgs. $16.00.<\/p>\n<p>Barbara Crooker\u2019s most recent collection, <em>Les Fauves, <\/em>considers two primary subjects\u2014visual art and language. Those subjects are admittedly broad, but her approach narrows them considerably. The book is arranged into four sections, with the first and fourth primarily exploring specific paintings by artists like Matisse and Van Gogh while the second and third consist of poems whose forms depend on language play or that respond to peculiarities of language in daily life. Initially, these two sources of material might seem decidedly distinct, but it is the notion of play that connects them. One of the early poems quotes Gauguin: \u201c<em>if you see \/ a tree as blue, make it blue<\/em>.\u201d Painting, even representational painting, need not be absolutely realistic, any more than language guarantees any absolute identification between signifier and signified. These poems have encouraged me to think about painting differently, and they\u2019ve also offered me a lot of fun.<\/p>\n<p>The second poem in the collection, \u201cOdalisque avec An\u00e9mones, 1937,\u201d demonstrates much of what Crooker does best in this collection. It opens with these lines:<\/p>\n<p>Delacroix said <em>Banish all earth colors<\/em>, and Matisse<br \/>\ntook this to heart, not a smear of clay, dirt or sand<br \/>\nanywhere in this painting. Anemones\u2014red, orange, purple\u2014<br \/>\ndrape themselves in front of the woman lounging<br \/>\non the divan, her red-striped yellow wrapper falling open.<\/p>\n<p>The comparatively long lines here, typical of many of the poems in the collection, permit Crooker to exploit opportunities that distinguish poetry from prose. Beginning and ending the first line with painters\u2019 names, for example, emphasizes the significance of the artist, and it also defers the reader\u2019s satisfaction\u2014will Matisse accept this advice regarding color or not? The second line with its string of monosyllables adopts an interesting rhythm (one other line in the poem consists exclusively of monosyllabic words, but its rhythm is entirely different, a fact attentive readers will find pleasurable). The third line enacts what I most appreciate about the poetic line; it augments the meaning of the sentences. The first sentence means that no \u201cearth colors\u201d appear in Matisse\u2019s painting; the second sentence shifts to the bright anemones and their positions vis-\u00e0-vis the woman. The line, however, suggests the additional possibility that the anemones fill the painting. Ekphrastic poetry presents particular challenges regarding visual imagery\u2014it\u2019s almost impossible for a poem to be as visually stimulating as a painting\u2014but Crooker rises to that challenge throughout the collection, and as these lines demonstrate, she also attends to elements of poetic craft that visual art cannot provide.<\/p>\n<p>Midway through the poem, the subject shifts from the painting itself to the speaker and a companion. Crooker creates a series of images reliant on the color yellow, beginning with line five above, and leading to a moment in a caf\u00e9 where she experiences unexpected happiness:<\/p>\n<p>the one with the surly waiter in the striped jersey<br \/>\nwho wouldn\u2019t bring us bread, then brought us the wrong wine.<br \/>\nBut the day was warm, and our lunch, when it came\u2014<br \/>\ngrilled sardines drizzled with oil\u2014was just what we wanted,<br \/>\nand we were happy in the sun on the white wicker chairs,<br \/>\nsomething blooming in my heart, anemones<br \/>\nspilling from their vase.<\/p>\n<p>I enjoy the sonic effects of these lines, particularly the assonance, alliteration, and repeated anapests.\u00a0 But even more I appreciate how these concluding lines return so satisfyingly to the poem\u2019s opening. The shift in subject that occurs in the center of the poem develops naturally and would have been enough of an ekphrastic response, but the last two lines, risking sentimentality as Richard Hugo says we must without collapsing into it, elevate the poem\u2019s accomplishment. We\u2019ve almost forgotten the anemones until, ah, there they are again.<\/p>\n<p>A few pages later, we come to \u201cLes Boulangers,\u201d one of the most exuberant poems in the collection. The poem is a celebration of that most ordinary and delicious substance, bread. It begins with an appreciation of those most responsible for bringing it to us, the bakers, and proceeds quickly to a litany of thanksgiving for its wonderful variety:<\/p>\n<p>Blessed be the breadmakers of la belle France<br \/>\nwho rise before dawn to plunge their arms<br \/>\ninto great tubs of dough. Blessed be the yeast<br \/>\nand its amazing redoubling. Praise the nimble<br \/>\ntongues of those who gave names to this plenty:<br \/>\n<em>baguette, boule, brioche, ficelle, pain de campagne.<br \/>\n<\/em><\/p>\n<p>With its focus on language, this poem might have been placed in section two or three of the collection, but it more appropriately belongs where it is, among others set in France. Crooker\u2019s skill is particularly evident in this poem, with the alliteration in lines one and six, the pun on \u201crise\u201d in line two, the variation in placement of \u201cBlessed\u201d (a variation which continues in later lines), and the shift from \u201cblessed\u201d to \u201cpraise\u201d to keep the list engaging. As the poem reaches its conclusion, having blessed every possible aspect of bread, including butter and crumbs, the focus shifts, demonstrating the surprising suggestion that praise is characteristic of humility: \u201cAnd bless us, too, O my brothers, \/ for we have sinned, and we are truly hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>This poem is truly pleasurable to read, and I imagine it would be even more pleasurable to hear read. I hope I have that chance.<\/p>\n<p>There\u2019s much more to say about <em>Les Fauves. <\/em>That\u2019s the thing with good books\u2014you just want to keep talking about them. But you also want to return and reread, and that\u2019s what I shall do now.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Barbara Crooker. Les Fauves. C &amp; R Press, 2017. 75 pgs. $16.00. Barbara Crooker\u2019s most recent collection, Les Fauves, considers two primary subjects\u2014visual art and language. Those subjects are admittedly broad, but her approach narrows them considerably. The book is arranged into four sections, with the first and fourth primarily exploring specific paintings by artists [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-478","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-areviewaweek"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/478","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=478"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/478\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":480,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/478\/revisions\/480"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=478"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=478"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lynndomina.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=478"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}