River Within
By Ann Taylor
Ravenna Press
ISBN: 978-0-9835982-8-2
65 Pages
Review by Dennis Daly
Heraclitus, the pre-Socratic
Greek philosopher, exclaimed “no man ever steps in the same river twice.” Ann
Taylor goes one better and internalizes the river, punctuating each bend and
turbulent eddy with her own riveting memories and graceful musings. Her faith
in the legitimacy of her singular vision and her ability as a passionate
observer sustains a measured tempo and delights with intelligence and occasional
twists of wry humor.
In Jenny and Charles, Taylor
portrays the historical obsession that Charles Darwin once had for an actual
monkey named Jenny. As the poem progresses the monkey’s actions become
comingled with the human observer’s. Darwin in fact is introduced into the
piece as a “cagemate.” The cagemate is observed by the monkey scratching
incomprehensible markings into a notebook. This neat twist the poet
accomplishes in a seamless fashion. Jenny seems to evolve right before our eyes
into a child. Here are the last three stanzas:
Darwin was entranced with Jenny,
housed himself with her, smiled,
and wrote
when she threw a tantrum for an
apple,
placed his gift of a mouth organ
straight
to her lips, astonished herself
with her own image in a mirror.
At home, he was happier still to
record
whatever she and his children had
in common—
their monkeyshines, her
humanness.
Jumping into history’s river
again, unhesitant, Taylor grabs hold of Cleopatra, Queen of the mighty Nile and
remolds her into a model of excess and consumption. Antony is left in the
background with plain pancakes and peasant fare. Taylor’s queen knows her
magical power and uses it,
She removes her huge pearl
earring,
the largest in history, a king’s
treasure,
richer than all roman banquets
combined,
dropped it into her cup of wine
vinegar,
and as it sizzled
drank it.
Again the poet dares history in a
poem entitled Annie Taylor takes the Falls. Here we are presented with another
river queen, the poet’s namesake. Over sixty this schoolmarm took a terrifying
chance and found fame tumbling in a four and half foot barrel over one hundred
and seventy feet down Niagara’s magnificent Horseshoe Falls to find her place
in this world. A true artist: Taylor the daredevil. Coincidently, this reviewer
composed your present reading material standing in the mists of those same
falls and he does attest to the crushing power of Taylor’s metaphor exhibited
in the water’s cataclysm, first hand. A true artist: Taylor the poet.
The poem concludes by quoting the
daredevil Taylor cautioning,
“No one ought ever do that
again!”
She warned, quaking,
Propped from rapids across a
shaky ramp—
A “Queen of the Mist,”
Numbered forever in the company
Of daredevils.
Maybe. Or was she just scaring
off potential rivals who might diminish her feats by their future
accomplishments, in other words protecting her immortality.
Sigmund Freud famously said that
sometimes a pencil is just a pencil, nothing more. Our poet makes the opposite
case in her poem, Pencil. Here this writing tool brims with generative powers.
Taylor intimates,
I read that a pencil can write
45,000 words,
draw a line thirty-five miles
long—
consume itself
with its own verbosity.
The poet clearly makes this
pencil, snatched from her river of memory, her own. Her first confession, a
traumatic affair to begin with, as every Catholic child knows, included the
theft of pencils. And now her husband’s
personal use of them tie past and present together in her memories. The poem
ends with very little ambiguity this way,
Less hungry, I love them still—
my glittery red stocking- stuffer
rolling to me across the desk,
my husband’s just sharpened
hexagonal yellow at the phone,
the one touting in green script
down its side a challenging
Dixon Ticonderoga 1388-3H, HARD
In the poem So much of my
journeying has been with you, Taylor beautifully describes discrete incidents
in her travels as if they were flowing past her, river-like. Each incident she
reconstructs with details defining her companion more than the geography. It
is, of course, a love story. Her lover leads her though the darkness in Oxford.
He provides the cheese and wine in the Alps. The Taj Mahal exists only in
shadows without the presence of her lover. The Great Wall of China exists only
as her lover’s running course. Her lover in the heart of the poem appears as her
classic protector against life’s physical threats. Speaking to her lover she
remembers the scene this way,
My memories of Kenya bring you
Tugging my camera from the robber
monkey,
Your breadknife protecting our
tent
From the lion roaring just feet
away.
In short the river of reality has
been changed forever for this intertwined couple and the objective details of
life have become, at least in this one poetic iteration, wholly personal and
unique.
Lucky couple.
Terrific poet.