Sometimes
Full of Daylight
Poems
by Owen Lewis
Dos
Madres Press
Loveland,
Ohio
ISBN:
978-1-933675-95-4
79
Pages
Review
by Dennis Daly
Owen
Lewis in his first book, Sometimes Full of Daylight, hammers his poems into
place as life’s turbulence swirls about him. His clear-eyed, but always
passionate, words glint with strange grief-ridden insight from that
other-worldly and profound calmness he finds within the eye of his own personal
storm. He rails against the gods of this imperfect world and the irrationality
of their institutions. In short, like many of us, he tries to hold his family
and loved ones together, anchoring them, keeping them from spinning away into
the sparking sun and certain annihilation.
In
the collection’s opening poem entitled The Walls Lewis hits a home run. With
soaring language the poet personifies the exterior and interior barriers to the
bone-crushing emotional tempests that assault us all. In a way the piece
laments an innocence lost. Here’s a selection,
The
wind is always at them, whistling
without
melody, kind of eggs them on
into
a sort of humming vibration.
And
in storms—what howling!
I’ve
noticed how it gets them agitated,
blows
at them till their middle strut.
I
like those storms when the walls
puff
out. They get indignant.
Each
time they never quite go back
aligned,
like making a room
becomes
odd for them…
The
poem The Sea I Ride reminds one of the Wizard of Oz. Instead of Dorothy’s home
flying through the tornado, the poet finds himself asea on splitting planks
watching his home and family storm-tossed. The tone is almost of a frolic and
thus very, very unsettling. The poem ends this way,
the
splitting jamb,
my
house goes by,
a
hand of thanks
my
surf-sped bride
must
sing her tune
her
lover’s swoon,
the
family strewn.
The
sea I ride.
My
house goes by.
The
interior rhyme in the last two lines gives the poem a matter-of-fact feel. But
matter-of-fact it is not. Troubling and very well done!
In
the poem Philosophy the poet attributes his own ability to find the calm at the
center of things to his father’s influence. His own strained relationship with
his father creates some interesting irony. The poem begins with these lines,
He
schooled me to say so what—
to
disappointment and hurt.
To
him it was philosophy, armor strapped
invisibly,
a gift to a young son
from
the soldier whose bad eyes
kept
him from World War II.
Long
car rides, errands for hardware,
the
blue smoke of his cigarette stinging my eyes,
the
dialed radio playing Benny Goodman,
each
turn a rift of static, over-riding a child-
wailing
clarinet, syllables of never spoken
conversations
hushed in my mouth…
The
poem Psalm comes across as a gut-wrenching prayer of helplessness. An estranged
wife and her lover fill the poet’s persona with the concrete of despair. He is
beyond reacting. Beyond hate. Only after-thoughts have meaning. And these
after-thoughts become poetry. The poet says,
why
are they pouring concrete into my mouth
and
eyes? it hardens as you read these words.
wife
helped lover mix the sand and lime.
I
have become a body plank,
and
they can do anything they want. what
you
hear are after-thoughts that don’t stop.
Revisiting
his childhood Lewis’ persona seems to seek strength in defiance. As he walks
through holy Rood cemetery he breaks off a flower and swipes it. This petty
action brings him back in time and seems almost a family tribute. He remembers a
secret habit of absconding with such flowers. The poet explains,
…
Portrait medallions
fixed
to their tombs watched us,
even
nodded to say—yes go ahead, our families
won’t
be back this week, so bring them home to yours.
And
until the month of the first blanket
frost,
prime mums and dahlias, late hydrangeas
found
their way to the Lenox vase
on
the living room piano, a gathering
of
defiance.
Bellagio,
the book’s long centerpiece poem, celebrates life changes. New love triumphs
over the scars of old love. However ambiguity still reigns. My favorite section
is 9. Lewis invents an alternative homecoming for Odysseus. The results are
riveting. Lewis describes the scene,
Returning
to rubble,
charred
beams. Vines
remove
the chimney bricks
one
by one. Ozone
hovers.
Sparks
etched
on smashed windows. Smashed eyes.
I’m here but you can’t see me.
Haven’t seen me for
twenty years.
Or ever. Blink
Go to sleep.
Stay asleep.
The
poem continues by defining Odysseus’ longing for home as really a longing for one
room of hand selected memories. And, oh by the way, his divorce decree is now
three years old. Nice touch.
Life
within the eye of the storm can, on a bad day, turn to claustrophobia. Lewis’
poem Van Gogh’s Goodbye is a case in point. The poet describes the painter’s last
painting in breathless measures. He concludes with sharp, short phrasing,
Wheat
burns with black clarity.
Smoke
and clouds are moving shapes.
In
silhouette minutes merge
and
shadows meet,
Close
in on the last of light
and
suffocation’s blue.
His
white eyes whirl in frenzy.
There
are a number of very good poems in this impressive collection but the poem
Because I Do Not Love You has to be Lewis master work. Its musicality and its
wisdom stay with you. In spite of its title it is, of course, a love poem—a
calm love poem. Here’s a bit of it,
I
can look away
and
not make you the sun
As
love can make a sun of the moon
and
stars of dark eyes—
how
lost and confusing the cosmic map
when
constellations
must
be traced with held hands.
I
do not make you the sun
and
can see you
Lewis’
poems do not have the feel of a first book. They exude maturity and
craftsmanship and leave the reader with high expectations of the poet’s next
collection.
