Philadelphia Inquirer // Drafts by Rachel Blau DuPlessis
It's truly poetry in motion
Writer's unique "drafts" require a reader's action.
Reviewed by Andrew Ervin
Drafts 1-38, Toll
By Rachel Blau DuPlessis
Wesleyan. 278 pp. $17.95 (paper), $35 (cloth).
Drafts 39-57, Pledge, with Draft, Unnumbered: Précis
By Rachel Blau DuPlessis
Salt Publishing. 235 pp. $18.99 (paper)
Rachel Blau DuPlessis calls her poems "drafts," no doubt playing on that word's many definitions. The poems have appeared in some of our most celebrated literary magazines and in the small, vital journals - such as the Poker and Philadelphia's own ixnay - where the sleeves-rolled-up, boiler-room work of the contemporary poetry scene takes place. From what I can tell, DuPlessis doesn't write poems so much as build them. The manner in which she does that is what makes the Temple professor one of the most exciting and inventive writers of our time.
The volume with the unwieldy title Drafts 39-57, Pledge, with Draft, Unnumbered: Précis is the second of her collected works. The first, Drafts 1-38, Toll appeared in 2001, and I would highly recommend that those new to DuPlessis start there, given that the drafts are connected by a unique matrix of poetic imagery and meaning.
DuPlessis assembles each distinct draft the way a bird makes a nest - laboriously integrating numerous found objects over a long period of time. They contain all sorts of foreign material, including snippets of other peoples' poems and headlines from this very newspaper. (Who knows? Maybe a line from the review you're reading now will end up in a future draft.) The radical poet George Oppen is a frequently cited influence, and DuPlessis shows respect for his sparse style while also updating objectivist poetry for the age of late capitalism by accumulating and consuming - artistically speaking - so much cultural detritus.
As in much of Daisy Fried's work, there's often a distinctly Philadelphian quality. The imagery catches the eye, as in "Draft 41: Of This," before we're promptly ushered toward another thought:
Self-portrait on the C bus
social portrait with one dilated pupil
up Broad and down Broad
I see new immigrants
and old prisoners
get off
at the Assistance
Broad and some sign-gone cross street
Near North Philly Station
I don't know.
DuPlessis uses connectivity - here, the network of cross streets - as both form and theme, and the word conjunction appears with some frequency: These ultimately are poems about one's relationship to the people and things around one.
A kind of feminist discourse runs through these poems, which at every turn make linear reading impossible and call into question the very notion of hierarchy. They are as much felt as read, demanding not only the reader's attention but also his or her active, physical participation. The words move vertically and horizontally on the page, but also extend beyond those two dimensions. You will find yourself flipping back and forth between these two volumes, between individual poems, and between their extensive, corresponding notes in the back of the book.
That connectivity and interplay among the drafts is what makes DuPlessis' work so fascinating. Each poem directly ties in with one or two previous "donor drafts." There's even a chart showing that "Draft 47: Printed Matter," for instance, is a kissing cousin of "Draft 9: Page" and "Draft 28: Facing Pages" (both of which are found in the earlier collection). Then there's the note for "Draft 47: Printed Matter", which explains - among other things - that "the material about poisoned concrete, dumped illegally, then mistaken for fertilizer comes from the Los Angeles Times, March 4, 1999." You may feel that at times that the poems are reading you, not you the poems. Enjoy it.
Given the beauty and complexity of these drafts, it's not much of an exaggeration to say that DuPlessis has invented a new way of integrating poetic form and content. Hers is a massive, cathedral-size project unlike any other in contemporary literature. Readers get to choose between standing back to stare in awe of the complex formal structure or to step inside and spend hours eyeing the fine detail of each poem up close.
Writer's unique "drafts" require a reader's action.
Reviewed by Andrew Ervin
Drafts 1-38, Toll
By Rachel Blau DuPlessis
Wesleyan. 278 pp. $17.95 (paper), $35 (cloth).
Drafts 39-57, Pledge, with Draft, Unnumbered: Précis
By Rachel Blau DuPlessis
Salt Publishing. 235 pp. $18.99 (paper)
Rachel Blau DuPlessis calls her poems "drafts," no doubt playing on that word's many definitions. The poems have appeared in some of our most celebrated literary magazines and in the small, vital journals - such as the Poker and Philadelphia's own ixnay - where the sleeves-rolled-up, boiler-room work of the contemporary poetry scene takes place. From what I can tell, DuPlessis doesn't write poems so much as build them. The manner in which she does that is what makes the Temple professor one of the most exciting and inventive writers of our time.
The volume with the unwieldy title Drafts 39-57, Pledge, with Draft, Unnumbered: Précis is the second of her collected works. The first, Drafts 1-38, Toll appeared in 2001, and I would highly recommend that those new to DuPlessis start there, given that the drafts are connected by a unique matrix of poetic imagery and meaning.
DuPlessis assembles each distinct draft the way a bird makes a nest - laboriously integrating numerous found objects over a long period of time. They contain all sorts of foreign material, including snippets of other peoples' poems and headlines from this very newspaper. (Who knows? Maybe a line from the review you're reading now will end up in a future draft.) The radical poet George Oppen is a frequently cited influence, and DuPlessis shows respect for his sparse style while also updating objectivist poetry for the age of late capitalism by accumulating and consuming - artistically speaking - so much cultural detritus.
As in much of Daisy Fried's work, there's often a distinctly Philadelphian quality. The imagery catches the eye, as in "Draft 41: Of This," before we're promptly ushered toward another thought:
Self-portrait on the C bus
social portrait with one dilated pupil
up Broad and down Broad
I see new immigrants
and old prisoners
get off
at the Assistance
Broad and some sign-gone cross street
Near North Philly Station
I don't know.
DuPlessis uses connectivity - here, the network of cross streets - as both form and theme, and the word conjunction appears with some frequency: These ultimately are poems about one's relationship to the people and things around one.
A kind of feminist discourse runs through these poems, which at every turn make linear reading impossible and call into question the very notion of hierarchy. They are as much felt as read, demanding not only the reader's attention but also his or her active, physical participation. The words move vertically and horizontally on the page, but also extend beyond those two dimensions. You will find yourself flipping back and forth between these two volumes, between individual poems, and between their extensive, corresponding notes in the back of the book.
That connectivity and interplay among the drafts is what makes DuPlessis' work so fascinating. Each poem directly ties in with one or two previous "donor drafts." There's even a chart showing that "Draft 47: Printed Matter," for instance, is a kissing cousin of "Draft 9: Page" and "Draft 28: Facing Pages" (both of which are found in the earlier collection). Then there's the note for "Draft 47: Printed Matter", which explains - among other things - that "the material about poisoned concrete, dumped illegally, then mistaken for fertilizer comes from the Los Angeles Times, March 4, 1999." You may feel that at times that the poems are reading you, not you the poems. Enjoy it.
Given the beauty and complexity of these drafts, it's not much of an exaggeration to say that DuPlessis has invented a new way of integrating poetic form and content. Hers is a massive, cathedral-size project unlike any other in contemporary literature. Readers get to choose between standing back to stare in awe of the complex formal structure or to step inside and spend hours eyeing the fine detail of each poem up close.
posted by Andrew Ervin at
8/23/2005
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