Acting as poetic records of light, the poems in Variations on Dawn and Dusk follow the sun as it warms, cools, colors, and shifts the space of Robert Irwin’s untitled (dawn to dusk) in the desert of Marfa, TX. Built on the footprint of the town’s old hospital, Irwin’s permanent installation is a remarkable structure with walls, windows, and screens that both capture and are taken over by the sun’s changing light. Through this deeply engaged ekphrasis, Dan Beachy-Quick uses language to participate in the overpowering elegance of Irwin’s structure. The poet’s fervent observations lead us in cycles of meditation, moving with the light that slides through the surfaces of the installation. Here, the very foundation of our vision—light—forms the vocabulary from which these poems are built. Building from Irwin’s use of rhythm and structure, the poems in this collection are constructed with an architectural framework. Rhythmic procedures inversely link the first and last words of the first and last lines of each poem and tie the number of lines to the number of syllables in the first line. These structures form a pattern, a thoughtful consistency through which we are invited to move and meditate with each variation of light.
This National Book Award longlisted poetry collection was a short, very quick, and enjoyable read. These poems are lovely little meditations, almost prayer-like
Forty-four pages of incomprehensible nonsense. You remember that image that went around a few years ago of a person holding a sign up that says “imagine how is touch the sky” that became somewhat of a meme? It’s like that for the entire collection.
Of course, fiction is subjective, and poetry is subjective even more, but there is a reason why something is called poetry. It should have something - rhyme, rhythms, alliteration, structure, meter, blank verse, couplets, caesure, assonance, syntax, anybody? I do not mean all of them .... Just a couple of poetic features to call this book a collection of poetry. Oh well, I need to be fair - there might have been a couple of enjambments ... that might have been just accidental rather then intended.
I am not a reader of poetry, but I do admire some poems and lyricisms, and it is unrealistic to expect the precision and energy of William Blake, symbolism of John Donne, quiet force of W. B. Yates, mournful rhyme of Auden, and quiescent definitiveness of Roger Mcgough, but I wanted something ... something that would have reached me emotionally, would have touched the fibers of my soul regardless of form and meaning. Alas, it it did not.
It is definitely a book of self expression, but I am not sure that it is the book of poetry ...
The first few pages I thought, " Nah, this book isn't for me, but it's so short I might as well finish it." But by page 12 I finally read something I liked, and by page 14 I decided I *did* like this book after all. Once I finished it and thought I had figured out the main themes, I immediately went back and read it all again. And feel like I'm richer for the experience.
I had wanted a quiet testament and I had wanted, among other things, a song a pure empty shape like a child would draw when asked to draw the shape called home a square with no roof but the sky and sky thinks in clouds and when the clouds go clear that light that falls down but is not falling on things not paradise it won't cohere not the crystal acorn not the gold thread not amen what fills also forms the eye
This was an ekphrasis collection based on Robert Irwin's artwork. Though many may enjoy the short seemingly disconnected phrases, this was not to my particular taste. Others have obviously enjoyed it. It is a quick read but not something I will likely read again. As in all writing, it is subjective and the work is short enough for each reader to make their own judgement on it.
is it possible and how is it if it is the work to do to be done to put with bare hands not the blue sky in a box but the sun you know there is no you some dark thou who dark through a screen sees
Open a door that isn't a door as you walk through it and come out The same you you were before and nothing is the twisting mirror of God where love and soul embrace a window open never not open never not closed where witness is trespassing prayer
is the idea incomplete or does the sun adjust love breaks apart the perfect myth of love that there is a line dividing dusk from dawn or am I who is undone prayer forgets it forms helplessness
riddle that everything fits inside the space it's given even my own hand-made thought even my own hand-made mind builds the tool that takes the tool apart time is another method so is the fiddle
The poet wrote these poems to accompany an art installation in West Texas and I paired them with photos from my life worshipping light.
As I have come to expect with Beachy-Quick, these poems teach me a new way to read. It’s exciting—and, at times, subtle—how the surreal and concrete weave together a consciousness! I’m all in with this style!
O God this was incredible, cracking open my dead heart and filling it with the stuff of songbirds. Sublime, supremely musical, heart-wrenching, deeply curious, and all ways luminous, these brief lyrics dance, shining a light on the void.
It was not what I thought it was - I found it somewhat superficial, with words stretching to be bigger than they are. I would not read it again any time soon.