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WaterSigns
In this collection of poetry, Ronda Miller continues to weave life stories, giving bold narration to moments in time that are sometimes touching, sometimes shocking, sometimes joy filled, and always honest. Miller gives voice through her poetry to stories we are sometimes afraid to listen to, lest through them we grow in understanding and compassion for each other, for humankind.
110 pages, Paperback
Published July 11, 2017
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
June 8, 2018
NOTE: This review first appeared in Coal City Review.
Ronda Miller’s latest poetry collection WaterSigns is a hard testament to our rocky communion with nature, and with how the often violent, temperamental world darkens and shapes youth, adulthood, and beyond. Like Miller’s first poetry volume MoonStain, where the poet examined her past and her relationship to nature and her home state of Kansas, this new work is deeply introspective. Here, though, is a different underlying current—water informs Miller’s entire life, from her interactions with nature to her sense of empathy for those without resources in other countries and our own. Water is imbued with wisdom in these poems, and with the ability to render both blessing and hardship easily. The titular opening poem awakens the reader to this harsh reality: “Nude limbs flail and / swing as a first attempt / to swim into existence / . . . // water begins a lifetime of struggle” (“Water Signs”).
Existence is not always harsh, of course, and Miller thinks on her upbringing with a certain nostalgia that informs her present life in Kansas. In “A Quieter Kansas,” she describes a time before the fetters of adulthood, where “the silence of cornfields / lulled us into thinking we’d never / grow old / . . . // we were children, / caught up in each moment / as though it were our entire lives.” Yet she remains aware of the looming future, personified in “the howl / of the wind as it escalated / throughout the night.” Gravity balances nostalgia and lighter moments throughout WaterSigns, often through a quiet social activism.
Some of Miller’s concerns here are political, always with an appreciation for human rights—and denouncement of threats toward them. The poem “Geese” tells an ongoing and recent hard truth:
Native Americans fight
for clean water rights
the world over,
stand their ground as
others shrink and shirk
family duties.
Later poems in the collection invoke the controversy of the Dakota Access Pipeline, declaring solidarity with the Sioux of Standing Rock—a population and an area now in jeopardy once again. Miller admires those who stand by their principles, and wishes to behold “a sky where geese, / by instinct, / now where they are going, / and so do I.”
Miler knows that happiness should be valued highly, and she aware of its fleeting nature. “It is an American scam / to act happy when / feeling bad thoughts,” she asserts, an easily relatable idea—how many photos can say all smiles within are genuine? Rather than cynicism, though, this poem’s wisdom lies in appreciation of bad happenings—the better to appreciate good things, when they come around. Wryly, and perhaps sadly, she adds, “for one second, / we look like we live / the American Dream.” For Miller, that dream is not one-size-fits-all.
Laced through this volume is that earlier idea about nature—we might say it giveth, and it taketh away. “Trees” prove a good microcosm of nature here, as the poet admires them from a safe distance but remains wary: they snatch at those unaware folks who happen to wander too close. A childhood fear surfaces in this poem, as Miller speculates that trees might “steal the soul / and leave the shell” and nothing else. Spooky though this idea is, it lends power to nature in a time when we seek so eagerly to subjugate our green world without a second thought.
Nature exercises that power in some of these poems through its ability to provide sustenance, and Miller—an unconfirmed foodie—rejoices in plucking “a green tomato” from a neighbor’s garden (with permission, of course), and in following “a recipe for mulligan stew, / directions given by / the homeless person / who passed me on the street.” Miller seeks to expand her world through food and other facets of culture, and speaks to this desire directly: “no longer content / with who I am, / I go in search / of foreign tastes” (“Inverted Tulips”).
Later, Miller brings her own wishes in line with nature, and a cycle completes itself: beyond a simple appreciation for the natural world, she participates in it, even risking ailment to immerse herself. Flying in the face of allergies, for instance, she leaves her window open every night:
The term creature comforts
Has taken on new meaning.
These sounds, the night
noises of crickets, toads, coyotes,
foxes . . .
life and death sounds,
bring relevance
to my daytime movements. (“Night Noises”)
This underlying context of Miller’s life—her communion with nature, her appreciation for animals beside (and including) humans—dovetails well with her concern for the world that we all inhabit. Toward the end of WaterSigns, she is grateful for her rootedness: “A serene Kansas sky helps / take my mind off an ocean / of people washing ashore, / starving and dying” in ways unimaginable to most (“I Wash”). Miller’s appreciation for the blessings of nature and water, and her awareness of those who are laid low by them, are themes that resonate throughout WaterSigns. The wisdom here is not always conventional—at times Miller gives us hard truths that we must observe carefully. The lessons in this collection, though, are valuable and necessary, and we can learn to steward our world better by careful reading of these poems.
Ronda Miller’s latest poetry collection WaterSigns is a hard testament to our rocky communion with nature, and with how the often violent, temperamental world darkens and shapes youth, adulthood, and beyond. Like Miller’s first poetry volume MoonStain, where the poet examined her past and her relationship to nature and her home state of Kansas, this new work is deeply introspective. Here, though, is a different underlying current—water informs Miller’s entire life, from her interactions with nature to her sense of empathy for those without resources in other countries and our own. Water is imbued with wisdom in these poems, and with the ability to render both blessing and hardship easily. The titular opening poem awakens the reader to this harsh reality: “Nude limbs flail and / swing as a first attempt / to swim into existence / . . . // water begins a lifetime of struggle” (“Water Signs”).
Existence is not always harsh, of course, and Miller thinks on her upbringing with a certain nostalgia that informs her present life in Kansas. In “A Quieter Kansas,” she describes a time before the fetters of adulthood, where “the silence of cornfields / lulled us into thinking we’d never / grow old / . . . // we were children, / caught up in each moment / as though it were our entire lives.” Yet she remains aware of the looming future, personified in “the howl / of the wind as it escalated / throughout the night.” Gravity balances nostalgia and lighter moments throughout WaterSigns, often through a quiet social activism.
Some of Miller’s concerns here are political, always with an appreciation for human rights—and denouncement of threats toward them. The poem “Geese” tells an ongoing and recent hard truth:
Native Americans fight
for clean water rights
the world over,
stand their ground as
others shrink and shirk
family duties.
Later poems in the collection invoke the controversy of the Dakota Access Pipeline, declaring solidarity with the Sioux of Standing Rock—a population and an area now in jeopardy once again. Miller admires those who stand by their principles, and wishes to behold “a sky where geese, / by instinct, / now where they are going, / and so do I.”
Miler knows that happiness should be valued highly, and she aware of its fleeting nature. “It is an American scam / to act happy when / feeling bad thoughts,” she asserts, an easily relatable idea—how many photos can say all smiles within are genuine? Rather than cynicism, though, this poem’s wisdom lies in appreciation of bad happenings—the better to appreciate good things, when they come around. Wryly, and perhaps sadly, she adds, “for one second, / we look like we live / the American Dream.” For Miller, that dream is not one-size-fits-all.
Laced through this volume is that earlier idea about nature—we might say it giveth, and it taketh away. “Trees” prove a good microcosm of nature here, as the poet admires them from a safe distance but remains wary: they snatch at those unaware folks who happen to wander too close. A childhood fear surfaces in this poem, as Miller speculates that trees might “steal the soul / and leave the shell” and nothing else. Spooky though this idea is, it lends power to nature in a time when we seek so eagerly to subjugate our green world without a second thought.
Nature exercises that power in some of these poems through its ability to provide sustenance, and Miller—an unconfirmed foodie—rejoices in plucking “a green tomato” from a neighbor’s garden (with permission, of course), and in following “a recipe for mulligan stew, / directions given by / the homeless person / who passed me on the street.” Miller seeks to expand her world through food and other facets of culture, and speaks to this desire directly: “no longer content / with who I am, / I go in search / of foreign tastes” (“Inverted Tulips”).
Later, Miller brings her own wishes in line with nature, and a cycle completes itself: beyond a simple appreciation for the natural world, she participates in it, even risking ailment to immerse herself. Flying in the face of allergies, for instance, she leaves her window open every night:
The term creature comforts
Has taken on new meaning.
These sounds, the night
noises of crickets, toads, coyotes,
foxes . . .
life and death sounds,
bring relevance
to my daytime movements. (“Night Noises”)
This underlying context of Miller’s life—her communion with nature, her appreciation for animals beside (and including) humans—dovetails well with her concern for the world that we all inhabit. Toward the end of WaterSigns, she is grateful for her rootedness: “A serene Kansas sky helps / take my mind off an ocean / of people washing ashore, / starving and dying” in ways unimaginable to most (“I Wash”). Miller’s appreciation for the blessings of nature and water, and her awareness of those who are laid low by them, are themes that resonate throughout WaterSigns. The wisdom here is not always conventional—at times Miller gives us hard truths that we must observe carefully. The lessons in this collection, though, are valuable and necessary, and we can learn to steward our world better by careful reading of these poems.
August 18, 2023
Ronda Miller – WaterSigns
Ronda Miller’s WaterSigns begins and ends with the importance of water and all the ways we use it and need it beginning with our “first attempt/to swim into existence” or the way it weighs us down, nearly drowns us, or lifts us up and enables us to survive. It is our life blood. Her poem “A Quieter Kansas” sets up for a life to come in poems from those early days of childhood, of “The silence of cornfields,” snow ice cream, newborn kittens, and stolen kisses to experiencing loss, darkness, imprisonment, and juggling life’s disparities and conditions. Her life is a Midwestern one from Colorado to Kansas where “home remains a mirage,/floating in [her] rearview mirror. Hers is a world of harvests, grasses, drifting dirt, and reckless wind where trees blow “hard and fierce” across prairies and small towns. Read WaterSigns and know Ronda. This is her story of love, tragedy, violence, death, and healing.
Ronda Miller’s WaterSigns begins and ends with the importance of water and all the ways we use it and need it beginning with our “first attempt/to swim into existence” or the way it weighs us down, nearly drowns us, or lifts us up and enables us to survive. It is our life blood. Her poem “A Quieter Kansas” sets up for a life to come in poems from those early days of childhood, of “The silence of cornfields,” snow ice cream, newborn kittens, and stolen kisses to experiencing loss, darkness, imprisonment, and juggling life’s disparities and conditions. Her life is a Midwestern one from Colorado to Kansas where “home remains a mirage,/floating in [her] rearview mirror. Hers is a world of harvests, grasses, drifting dirt, and reckless wind where trees blow “hard and fierce” across prairies and small towns. Read WaterSigns and know Ronda. This is her story of love, tragedy, violence, death, and healing.
March 14, 2023
Ronda Miller’s “WaterSigns” is exactly what a good poetry collection should be: both a declaration of the state of the moment, and a journey to that moment. Miller’s clever use of water as a unifying theme throughout the book lends to a cohesion that pulls the reader in further with each piece. The poet’s subtle use of meter and rhyme display an understated mastery of the craft which few achieve. Early in the book, Miller implores the reader, “Be silent and listen.” It’s nearly impossible to do anything else while this book is in hand. Above all, “WaterSigns” is a book both personal and universal. From the beginning to the end, we’re all just “retaining and remaining/water.”
July 23, 2024
I have read several books by Ronda Miller, but at this moment, Water Signs is my favorite. Each poem in the collection can stand on its own, but they work together to tell a story of love and loss and motherhood. They remind us why the land matters; what a specific place may have to offer us. In the poem “Just Dirt,” Ronda is cleaning and finds a Ziploc of dirt rescued from her old homestead as it burned to the ground. The dirt is from “my first real home.” She ponders what to do with the dirt and we realize she is also wondering what to do with the mixed bag of memories that also tie her to the place. In the poem “Quieter Kansas,” Ronda takes us to “the silence of cornfields” that “lulled us into thinking we’d never grow old.” Later in the book the poet leaves her window open in “Night Noises.” In this poem, she “reconnects with nature” and wishes to become “one of the ones outside.” The land, mostly Kansas, looms large in this book. As someone who also loves Kansas, I wrapped myself up in it.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews