Acts of Contortion

by Anna George Meek

In poems that are by turns witty, lush, and unflinching, Acts of Contortion explores the gestures of both hurtfulness and compassion. Whether set in a shelter for battered women, in the midst of a political demonstration, or at the center of an orchestra, the poems pursue the place of language in an injurious world. The political conscience at work is feminist, pacifist, and at odds with itself. Anna George Meek finds that the brutal and the compassionate are sometimes indistinguishable, born of our need to make contact outside of ourselves. These gestures—of music, of touch, of poetry—appear in the poems as the violin, domestic abuse, and words to comfort a woman in pain. The poems difficult yet imperative, the attempt to gesture beyond ourselves is an act of contortion.

Genres: Poetry

92 pages, Paperback

First published August 12, 2002

Reviews

[Mark Schultz · Rating 5 out of 5]

First book of poetry by Meek, who lives in south Minneapolis with her husband Matt and daughter Sarah. The themes of definition, clarity, precision (in shape, in thought, in language) vs. imprecision, inchoateness, feeling and emotion difficult to express, are consistently brought out. Clarity is sought and achieved often with loss of the fullness of what is trying to be expressed. On the other hand, shapelessness means loss of identity or ability to communicate meaning. It’s “Why the uninhibited suffer from incontinence” as is the title of one of her poems. I believe that the “acts of contortion” of the title is symbolic of the ways we as humans try to communicate (through speech, through movement, through the written word, through body language) the fullness of what we feel/think, while retaining our identity, our ability to shape things, our ability to “hold it together.” It took me a while to get into these poems, but in the end I found it extremely interesting, and very real to human experience.

[Crystal · Rating 4 out of 5]

It takes me so long to read a book of poetry that I can't always recall exactly which poems stood out to me or why I liked a particular collection, but I always know whether I enjoyed it or not. And I really enjoyed this collection. I finished Meek's collection this evening and found myself flipping back, looking for certain pomes I'd enjoyed. There's a subtlety here that I found very appealing. I particularly enjoyed the final section.

[Corin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excerpt from "Acts of Contortion"
by Anna George Meek

Bless the hand and its painstaking
acts of contortion, dozens of them
torqued and clawing at the necks
of violins in an exquisite forcefulness
their owners call Rimsky-Korsakov
or some other music that's difficult
to finger-spell. Bless the signature,
the love sonnet, the hand clutching the heart.
Bless every embrace. Bless the strain
of lovemaking, and the injuries it sustains.
Bless the breadloaf baked
and gladly eaten with strangers, with those
who have no home but here:
in distance, in touch, in everything generously spoken.

[Sawyer · Rating 4 out of 5]

4/5

Full transparency: this is written by one of my professors who I very much loved being in class with, but I'm reading it on my own. I really enjoy the elegant language and interesting form she utilizes to discuss identity, womanhood, and injustice. The sound devices often make the poems feel sound like they're stretched taut and plucked like the strings on a violin. I did get a little lost sometimes in the language. I look forward to doing a closer reading on this eventually to really dive into the form.

[Patty · Rating 3 out of 5]

It has been months since I read this volume of poems. I was sure I had written a review back in April. Since I didn’t, I pulled the book off my shelves so that I could remember what I had read. That is the nice thing about poetry. You can dip into it again and again. Each time I read a poem it may say something new to me.
Seeing these poems again reminded me of how music is such a big part of them. One of the reviewers on the back of the book speaks of how these poems are like listening to a symphony. I can’t say it any better than that.
Here is the one poem from the book that I could find on the web.

An Old Man Performs Alchemy on His Doorstep at Christmastime

Cream of Tartar, commonly used to lift meringue and
angel food cake, is actually made from crystallized fine wine.


After they stopped singing for him,
the carolers became transparent in the dark,
and he stepped into their emptiness to say
he lost his wife last week, please
sing again. Their voices filled with gold.
Last week, his fedora nodded hello to me
on the sidewalk, and the fragile breath
of kindness that passed between us
made something sweet of a morning
that had frightened me for no earthly reason.
Surely, you know this by another name:
the mysteries we intake, exhale, could be
sitting on our shelves, left on the bus seat
beside us. Don't wash your hands.
You fingered them at the supermarket,
gave them to the cashier; intoxicated tonight,
she'll sing in the streets. Think of the old man.
Who knew he kept the secret of levitation,
transference, and lightness filling a winter night?
— an effortless, crystalline powder
That could almost seem transfigured from loss.