Confession time: I don’t get along with reading poetry. It has nothing to do with poets or their poetic works; it has everything to do with my inability to critically review poetry. One significant drawback is that I am not well-versed (pun intended) in the technicalities of poetry. For example, I wouldn’t know an iamb from a dactyl, and I certainly wouldn’t know a trochee or an anapest if one ran over me.
Where that leaves me is that I make snap judgments on what I like or…well...don’t like. Accordingly, of the couple-of-dozen-or so poems by Cynthia Zarin in Orbit Poems, I liked several, mostly because of beautiful language expressing beautiful ideas. For example, “Flowers” ends with the gentlest of puzzling emotions:
I do not know how to hold all the beauty and sorrow of my life.
I got completely carried away with “Your Mother Dancing On The Table,” carried away, that is, by the complex structural symmetry of it. I marveled not only at the unfolding story, but also at the mathematical or linguistic prowess in having each six-line stanza comprise seven syllables—with the exception of the fifth line, which only contains six syllables.
In the long low living room
after everyone has gone,
your mother in a sleeveless
shift dress made out of some stuff
turquoise material
is dancing on the table
I also liked “Rainy Day Fugue,” but my absolute favorite in the collection is “Blue Vase,” the closing lines of which, in my opinion, come as close to lyrical beauty as makes no difference.
…A slip of light, untamed,
Had turned the vase into a crystal ball,
Whole blue eye looked back at us, amazed, two
Sleepers startled in each other’s arms,
While day lapped at night’s extinguished edge,
Adrift between the past and future tense…
It will be a while before I read more poetry, but I’m glad I read Zarin’s Orbit Poems.