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The Dirty Side of the Storm: Poems
An evocative meditation on destruction and creation, the sacred and ephemeral, along Louisiana's coast. In poems that bear witness to the eroding bayou country and its Cajun culture, Martha Serpas venerates a vanishing landscape defined by watersensuous, fecund, and destructive. As marsh turns into gulf, identity and consciousness are transformed as well. Serpas's verses invest paradox with her own defiantly spiritual meaning.
- GenresPoetry
Hardcover
First published November 17, 2006
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
November 20, 2023
Reburial at Sea
Leeville Cemetary, LA
They must have heard it coming--
the relentless marsh water
throwing itself against their vaults,
salt-heavy and exhausted, day
after day, the old bricks
warmed in the noon sun.
It must have sounded like regret, like
a bunkmate's throaty breathing
getting louder and closer
as the deckhands roll from sleep.
It must have set the marsh struggling,
high tide's long, muddy arms
that lift bodies into a bath
or onto the quilted Gulf.
It must have kept them company,
the persistent lapping, the slow rock down--
when one holds still, the world's
rough motions calm into shining ripples.
They must have been comforted
that change is possible for the dead.
Martha Serpas' second poetry collection The Dirty Side of the Storm: Poems has astonishing imagery and descriptions of the wetlands of Louisiana slowly succumbing to the Gulf's encroachment as well as the state of our souls in navigating our world. While it doesn't always cohere, there's plenty of instances where Serpas captures the ineffable nature of loss and regret.
Alongside Cote Blanche, this is another strong collection of poems, further proof Serpas should be more widely read and discussed. Highly recommended.
Catching the Bridge
Along the batture cars squat, windows down,
Their drivers' arms slung across side mirrors.
Sorry, I caught the bridge, an easy white lie
Until we get held up for true.
It's sweltering, and the tug just crawls.
Reluctant pulleys yank the pontoon open, all
A matter of reverse effort. A huge
Barge muscles water up the murky
Bayou. Shotgun shacks flash across the highway,
Like the flattened tombstones they might become.
Heat rises off asphalt, an afterthought.
Crackling oyster shells under rubber,
A distant burning field. That tender's
Missing an arm, his short sleeve, a lost glove.
Something's missing here, too. Racing from one
Bank of the narrow bayou to the other
And back again to outrun--an absence?
A satin train spreads behind the boat,
Floats between the banks. Like an oak church
Door snagging a lace ribbon, the bridge closes
On the wake no one can touch, and the black-
And-white bars free us for where we mean to go.
Louisiana Poetry Reviews
Penumbra: Poems<<<>>>Why the House Is Made of Gingerbread: Poems
Leeville Cemetary, LA
They must have heard it coming--
the relentless marsh water
throwing itself against their vaults,
salt-heavy and exhausted, day
after day, the old bricks
warmed in the noon sun.
It must have sounded like regret, like
a bunkmate's throaty breathing
getting louder and closer
as the deckhands roll from sleep.
It must have set the marsh struggling,
high tide's long, muddy arms
that lift bodies into a bath
or onto the quilted Gulf.
It must have kept them company,
the persistent lapping, the slow rock down--
when one holds still, the world's
rough motions calm into shining ripples.
They must have been comforted
that change is possible for the dead.
Martha Serpas' second poetry collection The Dirty Side of the Storm: Poems has astonishing imagery and descriptions of the wetlands of Louisiana slowly succumbing to the Gulf's encroachment as well as the state of our souls in navigating our world. While it doesn't always cohere, there's plenty of instances where Serpas captures the ineffable nature of loss and regret.
Alongside Cote Blanche, this is another strong collection of poems, further proof Serpas should be more widely read and discussed. Highly recommended.
Catching the Bridge
Along the batture cars squat, windows down,
Their drivers' arms slung across side mirrors.
Sorry, I caught the bridge, an easy white lie
Until we get held up for true.
It's sweltering, and the tug just crawls.
Reluctant pulleys yank the pontoon open, all
A matter of reverse effort. A huge
Barge muscles water up the murky
Bayou. Shotgun shacks flash across the highway,
Like the flattened tombstones they might become.
Heat rises off asphalt, an afterthought.
Crackling oyster shells under rubber,
A distant burning field. That tender's
Missing an arm, his short sleeve, a lost glove.
Something's missing here, too. Racing from one
Bank of the narrow bayou to the other
And back again to outrun--an absence?
A satin train spreads behind the boat,
Floats between the banks. Like an oak church
Door snagging a lace ribbon, the bridge closes
On the wake no one can touch, and the black-
And-white bars free us for where we mean to go.
Louisiana Poetry Reviews
Penumbra: Poems<<<>>>Why the House Is Made of Gingerbread: Poems
November 22, 2013
Martha Serpas’ book of poetry, The Dirty Side of the Storm is set in pre-Katrina Louisiana. Most of the poems are set in the Barataria-Terrebonne Estuary. This is one of the books that give me goose bumps every time I read it. Her meditations are passionate and spiritual, overflowing with emotional marshlands. Her embrace of the pain and beauty in the world (and all of us) is brought to life through these incredible landscapes, soulful snapshots of local southerners, family history, and religious meditation. Like Martha, this book echoes longing, beauty, and turmoil tempered with an untouchable serenity.
She has an unexplainable ability to hold creation and destruction in the palm of her hand while simultaneously being swept away by it. The life of this book is grieving and celebration. The language and cadence... Simply put, it’s beautifully crafted.
Fais Do-Do
A green heron pulls the sky behind it
like a zipper. Sharp rows
of clouds fold into themselves, erasing
the framed blue tide.
Barrier islands disappear into
the Gulf’s gray mouth.
Everywhere something strives to overtake something else:
Grass over a mound of fill dirt, ants over grass,
the rough shading of rust between rows
of sheet metal frustrating the sky.
Boats breast up three deep in every slip,
and, as soon docked, are waved away.
The only music’s crickets and lapping,
happy bullfrogs on slick logs.
A rustling skirt of palmettos
around the roots of a modest oak
that appear after hard rain. A fiddle,
or idling motor, moves away.
Go to sleep. God will come
in an extended cab for all of us:
the children, the dogs, the poets.
That old Adversary, the Gulf,
our succoring Mother, having given
everything, will carry the whole of us away.
She has an unexplainable ability to hold creation and destruction in the palm of her hand while simultaneously being swept away by it. The life of this book is grieving and celebration. The language and cadence... Simply put, it’s beautifully crafted.
Fais Do-Do
A green heron pulls the sky behind it
like a zipper. Sharp rows
of clouds fold into themselves, erasing
the framed blue tide.
Barrier islands disappear into
the Gulf’s gray mouth.
Everywhere something strives to overtake something else:
Grass over a mound of fill dirt, ants over grass,
the rough shading of rust between rows
of sheet metal frustrating the sky.
Boats breast up three deep in every slip,
and, as soon docked, are waved away.
The only music’s crickets and lapping,
happy bullfrogs on slick logs.
A rustling skirt of palmettos
around the roots of a modest oak
that appear after hard rain. A fiddle,
or idling motor, moves away.
Go to sleep. God will come
in an extended cab for all of us:
the children, the dogs, the poets.
That old Adversary, the Gulf,
our succoring Mother, having given
everything, will carry the whole of us away.
August 30, 2020
Her second book of poems, published by W.W. Norton. Most of the poems concern water, bogs, storms. Some luscious descriptions and proud language. The subject matter, though thoroughly examined, became a bit tiresome for this reader. Has a Christian/spiritual quality.
July 23, 2022
Purchased at Faulkner House Books on Pirate’s Alley in New Orleans some years ago as a local author to read and recall the trip. On this 4th of July, with fireworks playing a loud percussion to Getz and Gilberto, the poetry feels darkly redolent of the swamp and the inexorable eroding tides. A tone of observant foreboding with religious currents.
August 4, 2011
This collection of poems draws on entropic imagery, such as the loss of land to the Gulf and the aftermath of storms. Amidst the dark swamps and shadowy sheds, glimpses of divinity are found in the emotional conveyance of nature and the human heart. Anyone from Louisiana or has been in a big storm will find meaning in Serpas's work.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews