Tory Dent, “Palea” … the hum of spiders

Tory Dent

“Palea”

 
Only my mouth taking you in, the greenery splayed deep green.

Within my mouth, your arm inserted, a stem of gestures, breaking
           gracefully.

Into each other we root arbitrarily, like bushes, silken, and
           guttural.

Palaver, we open for the thrill of closing, for the thrill of it:
           opening.

The night was so humid when I knelt on the steps, wet and cold,
           of prewar stone.

A charm bracelet of sorts we budded, handmade but brazen, as if
           organic.

I cannot imagine the end of my fascination, emblazoned but
           feather-white too.

The gold closure of this like a gold coin is, of course, ancient.

Why can’t experience disseminate itself, be silken and brazen yet
           underwater?

A miniature Eiffel Tower, an enameled shamrock, a charm owned
           by its bracelet.

*

Author of three essential collections: What Silence Equals, HIV, Mon Amour, and Black Milk – Tory Dent is a ToryDent_NewBioImagenecessary voice in American literature. Her early death was such a loss. “Palea” – a work that is typically Dentian – expresses the poet’s focus on the beautiful and the terrible – a poem about identity that is reluctant to give itself over to commentary. So many strong phrases live in this poem: the greenery splayed deep green … into each other we root arbitrarily … gestures, breaking gracefully … emblazoned but feather-white too. The syntax, the word choice, the sounds of the phrasings are effective.

For all who love poetry, Dent’s line, “I cannot imagine the end of my fascination,” speaks to those fragile aspects of literature and life that we are drawn to. The stories that are fragmented. The great works, unwritten, unfinished. Devastatingly painful moments expressed in words. A truth that is real in every sense.

The wonderful barrage of images that fill this brief poem – in some way – defies us or dares us to consider the real world outside our doors of safety and perception. There is pain, to be sure. But there’s also an essence, a chord that once heard, we cannot escape – a moment that completely alters our ways of thought, feeling, expression. Dent’s writing speaks to that part of our lives.

A poem that is deeply felt on many levels, but also a work that is elusive with its logic and made all the more appealing for that.
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
 

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~ by samofthetenthousandthings on February 17, 2016.

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