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Enigma
is slim volume of 12 poems by Melanie Whithaus. When it came to me,
by mail on that hot-end-of-summer September day, I was immediately
drawn to the cover photo (also by Melanie) of raindrops on a window,
possibly a windshield. These raindrops gave me the feeling of
something far away and foreign to the hot September I was
experiencing.
The writing of Melanie Whithaus is
known for its raw and straight-forward voice, and her “no-bars-held”
style. These words are written
at the end of her bio on the back cover of the chapbook. So, here we
are, a sunny September day, Enigma
and me.
The
first poem is the title poem for the chapbook. “Enigma.” This
is a scant piece: Were we once dinosaurs/or are we merely/
fantastical creatures,/longing to be real?
I'm left dumbfounded. This is a quiet, nearly peaceful piece. There
is nothing raw about this poem. This poem is not a hot sunny
September day, as I am living it. This poem is not a raindrops on
windshields sort of day either. This poem is something softer,
something remarkably more vulnerable. This poem begs of cloud
watching or pillow talk. On my first reading of this poem, I know
that I should find a different place, both location and head-space to
read the remaining 11 poems.
A
sultry end of summer evening led me to the walled in cement backyard
of our North Denver abode. In the dwindling daylight I resumed the
reading of Enigma. In
a way, I was waiting for the rawness. I found the straight-forward
voice. I gave up on the “no-bars-held” style. What I found was
a tough-as-nails feeling in the poetry (and possibly the poet
herself) that successfully wove vulnerability and sensuality in the
continuity of voice.
“Dear
Lover” and “Blood Rush” quickly stand-out. Both poems have a
narrative quality to them, they each tell a story. The story goes on
for a duration of time that, like a raindrop reflecting the image of
the world inverted, goes on forever, maybe even within the walls of
second. “Dear Lover” starts last Tuesday, the narrator and the
lover are both eight. They live an entire life, “a happily every
after” sort of life complete with a white farmhouse and seven
children (an eighth on the way). But what's so striking is the
ethereal longevity of it: last Tuesday...we were eight.
It begs the notion that even at a young age, the uncertainty, the
severity of life plays on our daydreams and builds our short unions.
Melanie
Whithaus gives us 12 poems in this chapbook. The reoccurring themes:
love and loss of love, death, childhood reckonings of disasters and
triumphs and living life as an adult with love and loss of love,
death, childhood reckonings of disasters and triumphs. “Intoxicated”
is not only my favorite poem, but I think it's one where we meet the
poet, the vibe and it combines all the above mentioned themes. “I'm
ten drinks down the line/and I'm running out of time,”
starts the second stanza. We get the idea that the narrator, much
like the drunk woman who tells her to live her life, is doing
anything but. Ten drinks down the line, and it's really heartbreak
for a person, a place and a time. Ten drinks down the line maybe
there's a resolution. But what makes “Intoxicated” so
extraordinary is at it's basic level it is cathartic like a soiled
love affair and it's the comfy buzz that was two or three drinks ago.
It's the uncertainty of age, which is so easily toiled with
self-doubt. The poem has a careful construction. The poem is a
promise of the poet's future too, by which I mean, Melanie Whithaus
here in “Intoxicated” is only a fraction of the poet she is going
to be.
Enigma
has the startling moments of the raw, straight-forward voice, as
promised. It also have more lucrative moments rich in white-space
and wonder. It is a great mix of tough-as-nails and vulnerability.
Next: An
interview with Melanie Whithaus.
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