The Ones I Could Tell Anything
Mists of Self
By Nina Rubinstein Alonso
Ibbetson Street Press
Somerville MA
ISBM: 978-1-257-74906-5
44 Pages
Review by Dennis Daly
Poetry usually works best when the poet objectifies the personal on a mindful scale between self-evaluation and mythic individuality. Nina Rubinstein Alonzo does exactly that in her latest collection The Ones I Could Tell Anything, subtitled Mists of Self.
Styled mostly in crisp, neatly packed pods sans punctuation, Alonzo’s confessional pieces in Part 1 intimate external human connections beyond pedestrian attention and in Part 2, using inspired depictions, her very different, surreal pieces often wax mythical with internal and latent symbolism. These same images rub up against each other wonderfully, fusing dry narratives with her seemingly subconscious visions.
The opening poem, The Ones I Could Tell Anything, doubling as Alonzo’s title poem of both book and the first of two sections, details the pain of absence and her concomitant loss of self-knowledge and identity. She sums up her precarious state, introducing her subsequent pods this way,
… things matter less
than they used to
but I miss
the ones
I could tell
anything despite
death and distance
canceling
our meetings.
Companionship spans the divide between life and death in Alonzo’s piece entitled Flying Solo. Her husband was a giver (think few), not a taker (think many). This poem is a paean to his ever-present spirit in her life. The poet cites an example of that spirit here,
Fernando jumps
out of bed
without complaint
rushes to the rescue
gives without being asked
no explanation required
no receipt
no need for apology when I think
of the men
I’ve known
no one comes close
I miss him
speak to his spirit
feel him near
tell him
I’m doing
what I can
In her poem, Heather, college age Alonso seeks, as many students do, an alternate self. At that age the game is mimesis. They seek the talented, the artful, the sophisticated, and mirror them until they find their singular worth. Alonzo’s persona joins the poetic fray,
Tall exotic artsy with
silken ribbon hair
nothing like my curly mop
her elegant way
of enunciating phrases
can’t afford the dorm
so beg mom to let me
move into Heather’s
spare room
mom squints at the
Cambridge flat
wonders why I want
such a place
but it’s time
Heart’s Light, Alonzo’s final poem in Part 1, shines with its fundamental beat of humanity’s mystery. She sees her former confidant in a watery vision, not unlike King Arthur’s Lady of the Lake. Consider this lovely piece in its totality,
I find and lose myself
in these dear ones
glance in the pool
and see them
lifting water-lilies
loke candles to show me
undersea flowers
no matter some are living
some are dead all
radiate heart light.
A life of anticipation, a threatening end from somewhere out at sea, arrives in the poet’s harbor with dramatic stagecraft in Alonzo’s poem entitled Banner in Part 11. No quarter is offered by this strange ship as it approaches out human dream-time. A pirate’s black spot in the center of its battle flag seals the deal. The poet’s mnemonic intentions cry out in these emblematic lines,
the flag she saw as a child
through memory shifts and revises
every ominous gesture
tower of silver on a red field
and in the center a black spot
In Scissors, one of Alonzo’s funereal and mythical poems, she portrays the Fate (or Sister of the Night) Atropos as cutting the threads of life. The narrative concludes with an old Everyman (gulp) checking out,
… one snip
cuts the thread of time
and at his polished table
the old man suddenly
clutches and falls hard
spilling his cup of black wine
Alonzo’s poem Mourners details in a surreal way the rituals of death. There are no surprises here. Everything was foreseen. Life ends routinely with the finery and
celebratory color added afterwards. In this way the young are introduced to the most common of all contexts. Consider these moments of cultish preparation,
They unroll soft rugs
everything gray and black
as are planned
the menu ashen pale
eggs roasted in the fire
wine like delicate urine
the ranks of mourners
lighting torches and lamps
at the corners of the stairs
Set as the penultimate piece in her book, Alonzo’s poem Sword mitigates, in part, the surreal darkness and death pervading the collection’s Part II. Piercing the metaphysical mist, the poet constructs a battlefield weapon worthy of humanity’s conclusion. Both implement of execution and mercifully keen opiate, its sharp-edged steel promises a speedy transition out of this brutish world. Alonso puts it this way,
fire-forged hand-beaten
bathed in the well of minerals
let down for a minute only
star-sheath sword girded
with rings of shining metal
the maker calls it prostitute
and says it will bleed so many
yet death will be light
and swift sparkling
like a snow river.
Part 1 of this collection with its neo-confessional pieces and Part 11 with its mythical and surreal poems are very different. But Alonzo’s combination does make sense and brings with it an unusual logic. Part 1 portrays the relationships whereby she finds her voice. Then Part 2 showcases that objectifying voice. This strikes me as original. And that is quite an achievement.
