Sorry, Tree by Eileen Myles
Wave Books 2007
Reviewed by Rick Marlatt
American Pine
One would be hard-pressed to find a contemporary poet who exemplifies a voice as unique and energetic as that of Eileen Myles. In her latest collection, Sorry, Tree, Myles captures what can only be assessed as truly American visions. Through ultra-keen observation and inimitable poetic gesture, she demonstrates an uncanny ability to construct innovative stories out of single moments and thoughts which might be considered universal in today’s American experience. Recurring threads include the dichotomy between east and west, both nationally and internationally (“Something Simple,” “The Frames,” and “I’m Moved”); movement and migration (“San Diego Poem” and “Unnamed New York”); domestic leisure and complexities (“Jacaranda”); place (“April 5” and “Fifty-Three”); urban existence; (“To Hell”); sexuality (“Now,” “Scribble,” and “Each Defeat”); and American identity (“Cigarette Girl,” “Culture,” and “Home”).
The opening poem, which is untitled, introduces Myles’s frustration at not being able to harness the world through language--its many tones, colors, secrets, histories. The speaker describes herself as a child attempting to intimately know the world and has chosen poetry as the medium to explore that relationship. However, despite the command of words and observation bestowed within the talent of the poet, the world is far too much to take in. Thus, as the child’s emotions, which are inspired by the outside world, are too complicated to express, our poet is left shaking her toy.
The remainder of the book serves as the fulfillment of this initial artistic challenge. “No Rewriting” showcases a meaningful, moving undertow contrasted by the irresistible playfulness of revision. “For Jordana” is one of many pieces to utilize a genuine splendor of human sexual interaction, a quality in Myles that is never contrived. What makes Myles’s distinctive style so impressive is the amount of artistic prowess commanded in such small spaces. That is, the brief lines allow the reader to focus, and to become grateful upon discovering multiple layers of meaning.The vertical form of Myles’ poems invokes a system of haiku-like totem poles--short explosions of energy and thought expressed oftentimes in single-word lines.
Ultimately, Myles redefines the contemporary American voice through cultural awareness; there is constant movement and migration in her poems, both literal and figurative. Myles comments on these contrasts, understandings which unveil new conceptions of reality. What’s more, her conclusions are soulful and veritable, in that she spends time in and writes about her experiences in other parts of the world, elements of her life which objectify her interpretations of American culture. Creative diction and a remarkable use of caesura open up countless avenues of interpretation. In short, her work is unflinchingly, sometimes brutally, honest.
“That Country” exudes a unique personality and layers of interpretation worthy of a focused response. That is, while many of the poem’s central ideas are a return to characteristics of the entire book as outlined earlier, Myles demonstrates here a microcosm of the rest of the collection. Just as Myles introduces the communication dilemma at the outset of the book, “That Country” is constructed around the same idea. Not surprisingly, the poet is honest in this poem, admitting her own linguistic limitations prevent her from producing a sufficient word for the country of Great Britain. She takes into account a multitude of social, cultural, and political synonyms, and outlines the stigmas each of them carry. In doing so, Myles explores a fascinating paradox; despite the sheer mastery and articulation of language exhibited by the speaker, she is battling her own self-admitted inadequacy. Yet, just as she emerges triumphant from her self-created gauntlet in the book with the final commentary prose piece, “Everyday Barf,” she revels in her own inadequacy and uses her wit to escape her poetic predicament. In this sense, Myles uses her words as a plea for communication.
As is the pattern with many of the poems in this collection, Myles begins very specific, articulating her dilemma of being unable to identify the country from her own perspective: “I’ve just / never known / what / to call / that country.” Myles pulls the reader in to share in her communication breakdown. Then, by using the physical distance between herself and the country she’s questing, the speaker gradually opens things up. Towards the end of the poem, we have the turning point which typifies this transition, migration: “not us / neither an island / nor a continent / nor a world / spin without / a home.” By starting specific and ending universal, Myles widens the scope of interpretation to include most everything.
Indeed, it is this final “home,” this newfound poetic voice that Myles strives for. This poem, similar to the others in book that exemplify Myles’s aggressive style, forces readers to seriously consider the questions, what is the American identity? What are the poet’s responsibilities within that American existence? In this collection, Eileen Myles throws herself unabashedly into the fire, and reestablishes herself as a major force in contemporary American poetics. Yet, what separates Myles’s poetic revaluation of the dynamics of America from the bastions of beat poetry, lyrical elements of the punk rock movement, and her contemporaries, is the simplicity, speed, and genuineness she offers. Philosophically stimulating and artistically mesmerizing, Sorry, Tree showcases her well-honed poetic sensibilities and provides excellent verification for the cult-like following she has earned. And while the discussion of Myles’ contribution to the ongoing dialogue of poetry in America can’t be entered into lightly, a more intriguing investigation might explore how Myles continually manages to redefine the contemporary American voice.
--November 12, 2008
