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Quicksilver
The female narrator in Quicksilver is preoccupied with the elusive nature of time and memory. She functions in the present as “recall’s rough teeth, its flecks of / so-what” nip unexpectedly. With wonder and wariness she leans in as the past clasps her ankle.
46 pages, Paperback
First published February 18, 2022
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
March 23, 2022
Quicksilver--it's slippery; it's dangerous; it assumes a shape and just as quickly changes its shape. Life is that way, too. Margo Davis's poems are witty and surprising, and just as you think you know the speaker or her situation, the scene changes, a new bit of wisdom is offered, calamity strikes, a bit of humor defuses a situation.
Davis's speaker is a keen observer who misses very little. I love that. Many scenes play out intensely through the poet's expert use of imagery and figurative language. In "Backyard Primer," she is a child, watching and interpreting her mother's actions "at the clothesline, a stiff Y, // holding things together for the rest / of her alphabet." Then, as if she is watching a film, the child remembers: "My favorite episode: she once // conjugated a pot roast with / vegetables in a pot," and when the lessons slow, the speaker, still expectant, remarks "I wait for the next installment." However, the mother disappoints, in the way she neglects her daughter; and in the poem "Composure," as the child's body matures, she wonders "What's wrong with me? / My budding body signaling a futiure // that might hold a baby I could / ignore too" as her mother had.
Fresh metaphors thrive in Davis's work: a speaker in front of "a rattling air conditioner / which shimmied and exhaled"; a filmsy, pale shade lowered over the air conditioner "swelled then flattened / then rounded out," drawing a comparison to the speaker's pregnant body. In "Heat Wave," we understand arson as "chance chased gasoline / with a cartwheeling match." In a New Orleans bar, "cat burglar twins" appear with hair, "lacquered beehives cobalt." At a party, we see the speaker "pirouette, tray extended, offing / 'Do try this.' " And in attempting to reconnect with an old flame, we see "Stardust abrades my abiding trust." Those are just a few of the metaphors that captured my imagination.
There is so much more to Quicksilver. It is indeed a tantalizing read, well worth the diving in.
Davis's speaker is a keen observer who misses very little. I love that. Many scenes play out intensely through the poet's expert use of imagery and figurative language. In "Backyard Primer," she is a child, watching and interpreting her mother's actions "at the clothesline, a stiff Y, // holding things together for the rest / of her alphabet." Then, as if she is watching a film, the child remembers: "My favorite episode: she once // conjugated a pot roast with / vegetables in a pot," and when the lessons slow, the speaker, still expectant, remarks "I wait for the next installment." However, the mother disappoints, in the way she neglects her daughter; and in the poem "Composure," as the child's body matures, she wonders "What's wrong with me? / My budding body signaling a futiure // that might hold a baby I could / ignore too" as her mother had.
Fresh metaphors thrive in Davis's work: a speaker in front of "a rattling air conditioner / which shimmied and exhaled"; a filmsy, pale shade lowered over the air conditioner "swelled then flattened / then rounded out," drawing a comparison to the speaker's pregnant body. In "Heat Wave," we understand arson as "chance chased gasoline / with a cartwheeling match." In a New Orleans bar, "cat burglar twins" appear with hair, "lacquered beehives cobalt." At a party, we see the speaker "pirouette, tray extended, offing / 'Do try this.' " And in attempting to reconnect with an old flame, we see "Stardust abrades my abiding trust." Those are just a few of the metaphors that captured my imagination.
There is so much more to Quicksilver. It is indeed a tantalizing read, well worth the diving in.
March 21, 2022
Wonderful voice and vision
In this collection, Davis’ unique voice and vision – sometimes playful and always with a mastery of rhythm and sound – introduce us to a world we think we know – until, unexpectedly, we are thrown off balance as, like quicksilver, things change – the curtain is pulled back, people reveal their true selves, and scenes move from the familiar into new realms of experience.
A young girl’s birthday picnic falls apart when her father’s drinking gets out of hand (“Picnic”). A photograph of a mother and her daughter seems to show a loving relationship – until the daughter reveals the responsibility she has had to take for a disengaged mother (“Composure”). A woman seeks a bowl to hold the grapefruit she wants to eat with a spoon so she won’t drip juice on her blouse – then turns the experience into a messy, sensual experience (“Bacchanal”).
Davis reflects her subjects in a way that mimics the mirrors in “I don’t appear,” where a woman sees her reflection differently in every mirror she encounters. Finally, she accepts that gulf between her inner and outer self, and as she steps onto an elevator “to meet other masked / familiar faces,” we understand that we all deal with, and must accept, that gulf.
I greatly enjoyed this thought-provoking and satisfying collection that takes us from the familiar into a greater world of depth and understanding of relationships and life.
In this collection, Davis’ unique voice and vision – sometimes playful and always with a mastery of rhythm and sound – introduce us to a world we think we know – until, unexpectedly, we are thrown off balance as, like quicksilver, things change – the curtain is pulled back, people reveal their true selves, and scenes move from the familiar into new realms of experience.
A young girl’s birthday picnic falls apart when her father’s drinking gets out of hand (“Picnic”). A photograph of a mother and her daughter seems to show a loving relationship – until the daughter reveals the responsibility she has had to take for a disengaged mother (“Composure”). A woman seeks a bowl to hold the grapefruit she wants to eat with a spoon so she won’t drip juice on her blouse – then turns the experience into a messy, sensual experience (“Bacchanal”).
Davis reflects her subjects in a way that mimics the mirrors in “I don’t appear,” where a woman sees her reflection differently in every mirror she encounters. Finally, she accepts that gulf between her inner and outer self, and as she steps onto an elevator “to meet other masked / familiar faces,” we understand that we all deal with, and must accept, that gulf.
I greatly enjoyed this thought-provoking and satisfying collection that takes us from the familiar into a greater world of depth and understanding of relationships and life.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews