A poem is its own unique world. True, it’s possible to talk about shared ideas, about speakers who sound alike, about similar moods and sentiments, and about other elements of poems that can be used to tie them together, especially if they are written by one person. But to look for commonalities (I find) is to make a conscious decision to ignore the art in a line or less that makes a world of difference from one poem to another. A poem is its own unique, economical world. One can certainly choose though, as I did in this first post on Peggy Carr’s Honey and Lime, to pull out the familiar in a poem or poems, and just focus on that. It’s one level of entry into a collection of poems that makes them seem approachable even when they are not. Another way is to bundle them by theme or subject matter, or by the categories or types of poems one can distinguish in the collection. To that end--the end of bundling by subject, theme, or category--some of the poems in Honey and lime present stages of a woman’s life, particularly her experiences with love. From the vulnerable and naive-- Her young face to the older and surer-- One of the reasons why I tend to shy away from talking about or assessing a collection of poems is because I believe a collection of poems--more than a collection of short stories (for want of a comparison)--often contains works that are very distinctly different from each other, and pulling them together in any arbitrary attempt at critical analysis cheapens the world of each poem.
knelt
her eyes unfurled and
waiting
like new lilies
on a rain-promised morning
to cup the first warm
sprinkle
of his desire
she is
free of men’s passions
and strong
more than most women
she is
generous and warm
and laughs
. . .
she is gentle and profound
and forgives
The women in Honey and Lime may be wistful, abused, uncertain, but they are always resilient.
Other poems in the collection are dedication poems: one to the memory of Ellsworth Shake Keane -- Roots man from the start / he wrapped his country in / his head / tied his culture / in his blood / and roamed the mountains of / his music; another to the memory of the thirteen people, including eight Vincentians, who were aboard LIAT 319 when it disappeared on August 4, 1986 -- Our sorrow stood / on tiptoe / to touch even those / we never knew...
And yet another set of poems is dedicated to the youth of St. Vincent, who are given advice about keeping family connections sacred, and about personal and national pride. The advice to them resonates in repeated refrains:
Tell them you not for sale
Drugsman ah not for sale
. . .
Tell them you not for sale
Homeboy ah not for sale
. . .
Tell then you not for sale
Brandsman ah not for sale
A closer look: "Note to the Unseen"
The above are all ways one can appreciate the collection of poems in Honey and lime, but a closer look at one of the poems would do the work more justice...
“Note to the Unseen” opens with a command or wish for a torn piece of morning. The word “tear” suggests something crude, a feeling that is encouraged by the bluntness of the line itself: Tear me a piece of morning. But “tear” might also suggest a sad sentiment or a joyful communal sharing, as in tearing or breaking bread. Whichever meaning one may choose to see, the line creates a whimsical mood for the start of the poem.
The next lines are single words--pristine / crisp--which presumably describe the morning to be torn. Both in meaning and appearance, they provide notable contrast to the image and appearance of crudeness in the first line. The line following--unwrapped from a silver sunrise--is a return to a longer line of imagery. The return presents a more delicate handling of the morning though no less whimsical in its idea. That line is followed by the uneven sounding mix me a few pastel notes of, which is a broken off thought that creates an air of expectation for the next line, a one-word line, birdsong--another whimsical moment in the poem. The line following that one is also a chopped off command or wish: toss me a fine brush of, which once again creates suspense and expectation for the next line, ocean spray.
The last four lines in the poem reveal the speaker’s intent to paint you a wet poem / and lean it against / a new Caribbean sky / to dry. These last lines round out the the poem’s whimsy, but they also introduce a kind of pragmatism, a logic one can follow. After all, the matter the speaker requests--piece of a morning, birdsong, ocean spray--would certainly make pragmatic sense as food for a poet’s craft. Also poetically pragmatic is the image of leaning a wet poem up against a new Caribbean sky.
It is possible to interpret the new Caribbean sky as a new set of paradigms for artistic creations, or even a new or additional meaning for “Caribbean” itself. In addition, a “leaning” poem suggests a form of dependency, or a shadowing or mirroring effect that could have positive or negative effects on the craft, depending on how one sees it. There is also some wry humour in the last line “to dry” (which rhymes with the “sky” at the end of the preceding line), if one considers the idea that all the speaker really needs this new Caribbean sky for is to lean a wet poem up against it to dry. It suggests an act of plundering, but makes some light fun of the would-be plunderer who in essence could only create an imprint (wet print) of the original.
At the risk of bundling up the collection of poems in Honey and Lime (once again) in a rather tight, unseemly manner, I nevertheless conclude that the poem’s (“Note to the Unseen”) mix of whimsy, pragmatism, and humour is quite typical of the best you can expect from this third collection of poems by Peggy Carr. And although at times you get the distinct feeling she is solely addressing a Vincentian audience, the poems can appeal (even then) to anyone who can appreciate the broader human condition that the microcosm underscores.
I heartily recommend that you buy it.
Plus, be the first to comment, and I’ll send you a copy.
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Honey and Lime, by Peggy Carr (Virtualbookworm.com Publishing, Inc., 2006, 84pp).
