EK (Poems of Ekphrasis), the
latest collection by Tree Riesener, is a bold series of ruminations on, pretty
much, the last 2000 years or so of human history. Being a skilled writer, Riesener ropes us in
quickly and never lets go. The distant past is connected to the here and now by
placing it front of the funhouse lens of 21st century. Rodin is found in these pages, and Breugel,
and Chagall. Christ, the Madonna, Queen
Puabi – they all make appearances, as do the victims of Chernobyl, slasher
films & fast food (and other assorted signposts of junk culture), junkies,
the forgotten, the left behind – in short, the assorted detritus of the world
we’ve taken it upon ourselves to destroy.
Needless
to say, this is heavy writing. These are
important ideas dressed up in dazzling language. Not beautiful language, necessarily, but
hypnotic. The imagery is relentless, as
is the undercurrent – we are all caught here in a world quite possibly beyond
salvation, and so where do we go now?
Again,
though, it’s Riesener’s skill that keeps these poems getting preachy or overwhelming. Quite the opposite, they fascinate and amaze,
always shifting from one location, from one perspective, from one age, to
another. She jumps back and forth from
the casually observational to the purely factual, from straight-ahead narrative
to a beautiful Surrealist disregard for ordinary logic. There are shorter poems scattered here and
there that help us catch our breath, but the majority of these pieces are dense
and allusive, thorny with anger, sorrow, mystery and hope. They surround us, and we succumb. Wry observations peer out of the thickets of
language when we least expect them. The
almost-familiar darts behind the blatantly obscure and then reappears somewhere
else. The language can be quite playful
but, on the whole, the driving force behind most of these poems seems to be a
carefully controlled rage (and possibly even a sense if disgust). How have we arrived in the present tense with
so little to show for ourselves? What’s
left when the promise of unearned greatness turns out to be lie?
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