National Impalement Statistics

Back to the topic of detachment and dark humor, this next poem may be the epitome of it.

National Impalement Statistics

One out of eight deaths occurring in the home

or on picnics

is impalement-related. Four

thousand and eleven people die

in home accidents in the USA each year (on average

over the past decade), so

that means 501.375 people die

of home impalements each year.

Two hundred and eighty-seven people die on picnics

each year in the USA, therefore 35.875 (one does not

round off human beings!) people die

by impalement

on picnics, mostly by fork, but many more than one might expect

by toothpick, particularly

in the Northeast region of the country.

The denotative: sharp object

enters one part of body

and, sometimes, emerges from another part of body, often,

though not always, ending in expiration.

One loves

the exceptions: he who lives with the shaft of a golf club

skewering his neck

and learns to walk sideways through doors; she who lives

with a long sliver of ice, ever unmelting,

in her chest…The home

is a bruised and burning place

and it lives a worm,

and the picnic, the picnic

is eating on the ground

as leopards do

when they are not eating in the trees.

This poem’s detached tone comes from its reliance on (to use Professor White’s lecture) rhetoric over imagery or “made-ness.” It is literally rattling off statistics in a totally matter-of-fact manner. Several sentences begin with or involve “but” or “although” or some word related to them. The poem treats death humorously as it discusses people dying during picnics and an impaled-but-living man walking through doors sideways so his golf club appendage won’t smack against the walls. In this case, the use of the impersonal third-person (not sure of the exact grammatical term for this) makes the poem even more removed. “One loves the exceptions,” “one does not round off human beings,” “but many more than one might expect,” etc. The speaker never identifies himself nor addresses anyone in particular.

Trope and trust in the speaker

Trope figures prominently in A Cradle Place as Lux uses it to develop bizarre subject matter found in many of the poems. In “Terminal Lake,” Lux writes about the lake,

“All’s blind down there, and cold./ From above, it’s a huge black coin,/ it’s as if the real lake is drained/ and this lake is the drain…” “It’s a huge black coin” isn’t an extravagant metaphor but it does a good job of helping us imagine the physical shape (circular) and color (black) of the lake. In “asafetida” he writes,

The good, good thing for you

as prescribed by another, bitter

to the taste,

and, too, it stinks

like a neck after a boot heel is lifted,

for a moment, from it.

Like an eely

spike in a sinus. A horse-choking pill

put in a plunger

and shot down your throat—it’s good

for you, will improve you, you need it,

put a little honey on this tiny bomb

and take it down, take

it right down.

Wow, this “good, good thing” is compared to an “eely spike in a sinus,” “a horse choking pill,” a “tiny bomb” and its stink is compare to a “neck after a boot heel is lifted.” All these similes and metaphors in such a short poem and about one object definitely places great importance on the object. The problem is, this trope doesn’t give us much concrete imagery. I, for one, can’t really imagine what a “neck after a boot heel is lifted” smells like, or what an eely spike in a sinus looks like. It seems as though Lux doesn’t really want us to have a grasp on what exactly this “thing” is or what it smells and looks like. the speaker does call it a pill, but the fact that he has compared it to such strange things makes me take that statement with a grain of salt. If he calls it an eely spike in a sinus then I really can’t know if he is actually stating that the thing is a pill or it is just another odd metaphor. I think this dilemma is related to our discussions on whether we can “trust” certain speakers. It certainly appears to be something that others claim is a medicine, but we can’t know that it is an actual pill.

A Cradle Place by Thomas Lux

The first things I noticed about this book as a whole were the disturbing and/or comical titles of many of the poems. Titles like “Flies So Thick above the Corpses in the Rubble, the Soldiers Must Use Flamethrowers to Pass Through,” “Can’t Sleep the Clowns Will Eat Me,” “guide for the Perpetually Perplexed,” “Three Vials of Maggots,” and many others. Here’s “Three Vials of Maggots.”

Three Vials of Maggots

were collected from the corpse

found lying in a field

near a small stream. From these the lab can tell

at what time the dead one died.

The have schedules, the flies.

Some lay eggs

which hatch to maggots

which consume the corpse. Others come to eat flies, maggots, eggs.

Hide beetles arrive to clean the gristle.

It’s an orderly arrangement.

What the maggots do

they do for you.

The first notable observation is how interconnected the title and poem are. The title explicitly states the occasion of the poem and also acts as the first line of the poem. Many times we say that any title acts as a first line and this is an extreme as the first line of the poem (the real one) would not make sense without the title beginning it. This heavy reliance on the title is a common practice of Lux’s in The Cradle Place as it appears in “Three Boatloads of Mummies,” “Can’t Sleep the Clowns Will Eat Me,” “From the High Ground,” “The Ice Worm’s Life,” “The Chief Attendant of the Napkin,” “Burned Forests and Horses’ Bones,” “To Help the Monkey Cross the River,” “Can Tie Shoes but Won’t,” “Ten Years Hard Labor on a Guano Island,” and “Say You’re Breathing.” You can also tell by now that his titles are very unique, if not extremely odd.

I think that the defining characteristic of this poem, and many of the others, is its understated wit and dark humor. The poem is about a rotting corpse found near a stream, but Lux doesn’t discuss the person or his life. No, he discusses the usefulness of the insects that pick away at the corpse and ultimately states that the maggots are indeed helping us. Another dark but impersonal poem is “Hospitality and Revenge,”

Hospitality and Revenge

You invite your neighbor over

for a beer and a piece of pie.

He says words inappropriate

about your Xmas bric-a-brac.

You shoot him, three times, in the face.

While you complain to his first son

re high off-white-couch cleaning costs,

he shoots you in the face five times.

At your wake, your first son pumps eight

slugs behind his first son’s left ear.

Your wife invites your neighbor’s widow for tea.

Let’s see what exactly about the poem makes it so disturbing and cold. The tone of the poem is so detached because he never uses any words to describe the people dying or make any attempt to personalize the poem. The most we know about the neighbor is that he “says words inappropriate.” The use of slang words almost act as euphemisms such as when “your first son pump eight slugs.” These words devalue the victims and make the poem almost comical as that sentence seems straight out of a comic book caption. Also notice that the speaker writes in the second person saying “You invite,” “your Xmas,” “you complain,” etc. Regardless of the fact that the speaker isn’t necessarily addressing the reader, the nature of the second person itself will bring the reader’s own family into his/her mind making the poem most disturbing for him/her. However, the detached tone of the poem combined with the personal nature of “you” only augments the coldness of the poem.

The poem also makes a small observation on the nature of revenge, as the number of bullets each revenge-killing involves increases. “You” shoot “your neighbor” three times, his son shoots “you” five times, and “your” first son “pumps eight slugs” into the other son’s head. Many of the poems in A Cradle Place have disturbing subject matter yet the speakers handle it with no emotions and even hints of humor.

Tripp's comment on "Vietnam"

I was interested in the questions that Tripp raised as to whether she is a "woman who cannot understand hardly any english? is she playing dumb until her children are put at risk? is she just confused and has no idea what is going on around her and all she knows is that she wants her kids to be with her?" Let's look at the text and see if the evidence favors one of the possibilities.

Here’s the poem once again:

Vietnam

“Woman, what’s your name? “I don’t know.”

“How old are you? Where are you from?” “I don’t know.”

“How long have you been hiding?” “I don’t know.”

“Why did you bite my finger?” “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you know that we won’t hurt you?” “I don’t know.”

“Whose side are you on?” “I don’t know.”

“This is war, you’ve got to choose.” “I don’t know.”

“Does your village still exist?” “I don’t know.”

“Are those your children?” “Yes.”

a) A woman who can understand very little English:

This does not seem to be a likely scenario as she understands “are those your children,” which really isn’t that simple of a sentence. It’s difficult to believe that she would understand that and not “what’s your name.”

b) She is playing dumb until her children are put at risk.

This is certainly a possibility but if we examine it we must also discern why she decided to actually answer the last question. I’ll explain that in a little bit but I do think that the third possibility is the most plausible.

c) She is extremely confused with what is going on around her.

There is one word that leads me to believe that this woman may not care as much for her children as is evident on the first read. The soldier says “are those your children.” Judging by my classmates’ comments on my poems, the distinction between the demonstrative pronouns carries much weight with it. Frequently there are comments suggesting the use of “this/these” rather than “that/those” because the usage of the former places more importance on the noun at hand. I totally believe in that observation as well. I also believe, however, that we can’t pick and choose when “that” (or its plural form) reduces importance and when we can ignore the choice of “that” (as in this poem). If we hold to the conclusion that “that/those” reduces importance and immediacy then we must apply it to “are those your children.” “Those” inadvertently reduces the importance of the children but also tells us that the children are physically away from the mother. If this woman really is completely protective of her children then why are they not by her side in a time of war? Human nature and the nature of the English language can explain how she knew the answer to the last question. “Those” is considered a pronoun but for it to be intelligible it must be specified what “those” is referring to. Since the soldiers are asking simple questions, they did not previously mention the children and therefore their only option would be to physically point and/or look at the children as they ask the question. As you can see, the motioning actually goes beyond human nature and depends on English grammar. The textual evidence is telling us that the woman knows very simple English answers but is totally overwhelmed and confused by the war going on around her. She answers the last question because it is a simple yes or no question and not necessarily because her children are all-important. We can speculate on the setting they are in (an interrogation room, field, house, etc) or other things but ultimately we have to rely on the text to lead us in the right direction. Unfortunately we have little text to work with, but I think that all we really need is the word “those.”

Motion in poetry?

Motion

You’re crying here, but there they’re dancing,

there they’re dancing in your tear.

There they’re happy, making merry,

they don’t know a blessed thing.

Almost the glimmering of mirrors.

Almost candles flickering.

Nearly staircases and hallways.

Gestures, lace cuffs, so it seems.

Hydrogen, oxygen, those rascals.

Chlorine, sodium, a pair of rogues.

The fop nitrogen parading

up and down, around, about

beneath the vault, inside the dome.

Your crying’s music to their ears.

Yes, eine kleine Nachtmusik.

Who are you, lovely masquerader.

The perception of motion in writing is an interesting concept because a writer must elicit not just imagery in the reader’s mind, but dynamic imagery. This poem does not strive for elaborate images, however. Simple words like “dancing,” “glimmering,” “flickering,” “gestures,” “rogues,” and “parading” lend a perception of action and activity within the poem. Also, the elements hydrogen, oxygen, chlorine, and sodium are highly reactive in their elemental forms which will also add to the “motion” of the poem, if the reader is familiar with chemistry. In addition, notice how the poet says “almost the glimmering,” “almost candles flickering,” and “nearly staircases.” There is never any completion and only perpetual motion.

Despite the active diction, I believe there are elements of the poem that hinder the perception of motion and perhaps this relates to the occasion of the poem. Enjambment, which would create a hurried feel while reading the poem, occurs only in the 11^th and twelfth lines. The abundance of end-line punctuation seems counterintuitive for a poem utilizing active words as it stops the reader at the same time every line. There is no unpredictability or acceleration in this technique. Also, there are several multisyllabic words that don’t exactly roll off the tongue: “glimmering,” “hydrogen,” “oxygen,” “sodium,” “nitrogen,” “Nachtmusik, and “masquerader.” These words slow the reader down in his reading and complement the punctuation well.

It seems that the occasion of the poem is a person crying alone at a party while everyone else is having fun and in motion. The contrast between the state of the loner (alone, still) and that of the partygoers (dancing, active) directly relates to the presence of both active diction and end-line punctuation.

Vietnam

This next poem is really interesting and has a lot going on in it without actually having any figurative language or noticeable complexity to it.

Vietnam

“Woman, what’s your name? “I don’t know.”

“How old are you? Where are you from?” “I don’t know.”

“How long have you been hiding?” “I don’t know.”

“Why did you bite my finger?” “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you know that we won’t hurt you?” “I don’t know.”

“Whose side are you on?” “I don’t know.”

“This is war, you’ve got to choose.” “I don’t know.”

“Does your village still exist?” “I don’t know.”

“Are those your children?” “Yes.”

The entire poem consists of dialogue between what I believe to be a US soldier and a Vietnamese woman. Pretty much any work of art about Vietnam will be very emotionally charged and typically quite political. What’s impressive about this poem especially, however, is that the poet does not opt for the common route for war-themed works of art. This common route is the heavy use of vivid imagery to convey the horrors of war and basically frighten the reader/observer enough to make him realize the human toll of war. Wislawa Szymborska creates such a relatively simple poem that manages to be as powerful as any imagery-dependant poems/works of art in general. The repetition of “I don’t know” after 8/9 lines reinforces the sense of chaos and confusion during war. The fact that she only answers “Yes” when asked about her children tells us how utterly lost this woman is. She is displaced from her home, doesn’t know if her village exists anymore, has no idea what side she is on, and bit a soldier out of fright. Her life seems to be in great disorder. I just wanted to post this poem because I love how Szymborska can convey so much in 9 lines of simple dialogue.

Poems New and Collected p67-142 by Wislawa Szymborska

“The Joy of Writing”

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?

For a drink of written water from a spring

whose surface will Xerox her soft muzzle?

Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?

Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth.

she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.

Silence—this word also rustles across the page

and parts the boughs

that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,

are letters up to no good,

clutches of clauses so subordinate

they’ll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply

of hunters. equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights.

prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,

surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what’s here isn’t life.

Other laws, black on white, obtain

The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,

and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,

full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.

Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.

Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,

not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof’s full stop.

Is there then a world

where I rule absolutely on fate?

A time I bind with chains of signs?

An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.

The power of preserving.

Revenge of a mortal hand.

I thought this poem is such a great way to begin a volume of poetry. A poem about the joy of writing and the life it can bring about. The most important element of the poem is the personification of inanimate objects, especially letters and words. A word “rustles across the page,” bullets stop in mid-flight, and boughs sprout from the word “woods.” This is an illustration of the power of writing to inspire and bring life. It’s amazing how she can create this vivid imagery of such a fanciful subject: letters “rustling” letters and hunters of ink aiming at a pen. We mention concrete imagery often in class and previous to reading this poem I always assumed that meant the imagery had to be of something realistic. I can now see how one can create lively imagery of such a fantastic event.

Also notice how three of the first four lines end in question marks and three of the last six lines end in question marks, yet in between them there are none. The first three ask legitimate questions that are answered in the ensuing plot but the last three are really rhetorical questions that raise very important issues to a writer. I think she is showing how ultimately the joy of writing leads to powerful questions about the nature of writing itself. She seems to conclude that the joy of writing is in the power that the author/poet holds in creating his or her fictional worlds. She says “Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,” “Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so,” and “a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof’s full stop.” That’s a power trip if I’ve ever seen one!

Personification and metaphor are the dominant elements of this poem. The word in the beginning is compared to a doe prancing across a page. Not only is it an inanimate object being given animate qualities (personification), it is also being compared to something very unlike itself (metaphor).

Lauren's post

"The thing that really struck me about this poem was the verb usage. It is narrative poem--telling a story--but still uses strong action verbs that help create a ritualistic, rhythmic feel. Often, in a narrative poem, the process of telling the story involves too many "prose" words (conjunctions, adverbs, unexciting verbs, and the like) and not enough words charged with significant meaning. In this poem, the author manages to tell the story AND use some of the best assortment of verbs that I've seen:

set ablaze
swing
leading
surround
flicker
ignites
click
pump
flail
jumps
flirts
rocking
testify
snuffs
flashing
surrender

The poem could have conveyed the same story with uninteresting verbs, but the passion behind the poem would have been lost completely--as would have its effect on the reader."

Great observation, Lauren. I definitely agree that some narrative poems tend to have prose-like diction, and this is probably why many poets opt for the prose poem route. Good narrative poems impress me so much because the poet has to relay so much information in a very specific order and manner without delving into prose. In other types of poems the poet can reveal important elements of the poem in any order he/she would like but with a narrative poem it just can't work like that. They have some flexibility in how he orders it chronologically, but it still has to be discernible for the reader. You mentioned the ritualistic feel of the poem and I totally agree and think that that feel is what makes this poem. Great insight Lauren.

Response to Alex V.G.'s comment

"I dig what you are saying about the imperative, about the tonal impact it has on a poem, etc., but I wonder about your linking of the imperative and bitterness... I definately get a feeling of bitterness from some of the poem, primarily when she says ",girl" in the way she does, coupled, yes, with the imperative, but I'm not sure its the imperative that gives the poem that bitterness as much as the placement of girl (as, I believe, it refers to the poet) after a comma after an imperative, like a spit or a curse. "Go do this, stupid." Thoughts? Actually it is pretty late, to be honest. You don't have to answer if you are already asleep."

Tonal things can be difficult to guage because so much of it hinges on how an individual reacts to certain words, phrases, tenses, etc. These reactions can vary from person to person greatly in some instances. The inclusion of ",girl" in the poem gives me a sense of a desperate woman trying so hard to push herself in a new direction. But all of these commands to herself seem to be tinged with bitterness. I'll definitely agree though that just the word "girl" clarifies so much about the poem but also opens many doors. One door being how to interpret the placement and usage of the word. It's such a minute yet important detail that it can be read into several ways.

damn

Ah damnit, blogger isn't cooperating and basically nullified 5 solid minutes of putting in all the damn spaces in"Dust." Take my word for it, the words were completely scattered across the page with several spaces in between the words. The jist is that there was a shitload of open space.


In addition, highlight the whole poem. Blogger also decided to make the font of the words in the box white so that you can't see them.

"Dust"

I’m not quite sure if this qualifies as concrete poetry because it’s not as radical visually as some of the ones in our poetry book, but it’s a cool poem nonetheless.

Dust

Off the lamp shade

so we can see

each other

without/groping,

without

the mystery,

the fantasy,

of who we wish we were;

dust

off the piano so

we can dance

weightless

like grace

notes

under Art Tatum’s

fingers, dust

off the television so we can settle on the sofa till our bodies feel like the letter B,

till our minds

misplace

regrets,

till our tongues become extinct.

Lift the dust

off your eyes,

girl;

lift the velvet haze

off your dreams wipe

the surface

clean; t e a r

the rag off your head, and

peer

into your reflection

before

there’s nothing left to see.

What’s interesting about analyzing this poem is that since the poem is so oddly placed on the page, the stuff that’s normal is what jumps out at me. I’ll begin with taking a look at the things that are normall spaced and printed first.

The defining element of this poem is space. There is so much empty space on the page with the massive indentations, one word lines, spaces between letters, and triple spaces between almost all of the words. This allows Jordan to place emphasis on certain words by positioning them wherever the hell he wants. An example of this is that “regrets” is placed on its own line and practically right next to the binding of the book. The feeling that this poem conveys is one of distance and longing, and the isolation of “regrets” reinforces that. What I can’t discern though is to whom this poem is talking. I thought Macnolia was talking to her husband the whole time until she said “Lift the dust/off your eyes,/ girl.” This made me think that she might be speaking to herself, hoping for motivation and/or comfort. She may be so detached from her husband, due to his infidelity, that she feels she must comfort and ease the pain for herself. This would explain the spaciousness of the poem, the one word lines, and the complete separation of “off the television…B” from the rest of the poem.

Another interesting thing is the extensive use of the imperative, such as “dust off…”three times, “lift the dust,” “lift the velvet,” “wipe the surface,” “tear the rag,” “and “peer into.” This conveys a sense of bitterness mixed in with the distanced feeling I discussed before. It’s almost like Macnolia is pushing herself so hard to change that she is demanding things of herself.

There’s also a large change in the pattern of the sentences after the boxed portion. Before it, Macnolia only uses the “Dust off…” command and always gives a reason for this, “Dust off the lamp shad so we can see each other,” “dust off the piano so we can dance,” “dust off the television so we can settle on the sofa.” They all give justifications for her demands to dust these objects off. After the box, however, the commands change and she ceases to give reasons for these demands. “Lift the dust off your eyes,” “lift the velvet haze off your dreams,” “wipe the surface clean,” “tear the rag off your head,” and “peer into your reflection.” This change over such a dramatically short amount of time possibly shows how Macnolia’s determination may be increasing. Initially, she has to give herself weak reasons to dust these things off, reasons to change herself. Soon after though she has the willpower to demand these things of herself with no strings attached.

Craft elements

As you could probably tell, I've been experimenting with interpreting a poem's meaning, sometimes involving symbolism. I haven't abandoned craft elements, however, and will devote this week to them.

Rope

Rope
Alberta Cox

As if two girls were starting a fire
On all sides of my daughter,
She is set ablaze: the girls swing
Two clotheslines between them
As if they were goddesses
Holding two country roads
Leading to each other; neighbors
Surround her syncopated dance
As her seizure of heat begins
To flicker on the moonlit sidewalk—
Now, the ropes are white hot—
Her hair ignites in the upswing; her barrettes,
Like petrified butterflies, click on the off beat;
Her knees pump like she's walking on red coals;
Her arms flail as if she's calling the rain
To put her out; she jumps, she flirts
With the flame: she jumps backwards
And then turns forward,
Rocking in and out of the light,
Her hands testify around her head
Or pose on yet-to-be hips, till
Her fire snuffs out as a wind blows cold,
A car with flashing lights
Slows past, and the braids of our summer night
Surrender to gravity.

In contrast to Yeat’s poetry, this poem THRIVES on simile and metaphor. The heat is described as a seizure, the barrettes compared to butterflies, and so on. The central conceit (I think that’s what it would be called) is set forth in the first two lines, “As if two girls were starting a fire/On all sides of my daughter…” The poem clearly goes on to describe the scene as if MacNolia really is on fire. By the middle of it, the poem takes on the quality of an religious and ritualistic dance using language like “Her arms flail as if she's calling the rain,” “jumps backwards,” “rocking.” Jordan even directly relates the girl’s actions as a “syncopated dance.” Also notice the use of some musical language, “syncopated” and “off beat.” Jordan says “Her hands testify around her head” which elicits an image of a devoutly religious person “testifying” her sins to God in a very animated fashion, possibly in anguish. The poem ends with the line “surrender to gravity.” The act of “surrendering” lends itself to the idea of wholly submitting oneself to God in devotion and service.
This poem is representative of oppression and most importantly, the reaction to oppression. The book’s central conflict is racism as MacNolia is eliminated from the competition because the judges gave her a word that was not on the pre-determined list of words, probably because they would not stand to see a black girl win a competition of such magnitude. The perpetrators of the arson, the two girls, are symbolic of the bigots that stand to deny African-Americans of their civil rights. They are compared to “goddesses,” and I do not think this comparison is in looks but in supposed “superiority.” The language makes it seem like they are overwhelming MacNolia, “two girls were starting a fire/On all sides of my daughter,” and the girls are portrayed as if they are finding joy in this vicious act, “the girls swing two clotheslines between them/As if they were goddesses.” MacNolia’s religious-tinged dance is the response to the discrimination set forth by the bigots. My read is that the strong religious nature of the fire-induced dance represents what many people do, or possibly should do (depending on if Jordan is trying to send a message) in response to prejudices: turn to God. “Testify,” “Surrender.” Hmm, what’s most powerful is how the poem ends, MacNolia is saved by a non-descript “wind” accompanied by a car with only “flashing lights.” I think that Jordan is saying that turning to God in response to racial hardships will ultimately lead to some amount of easing. Why do I think the wind/car represent God/fruits of religious faith? It just seems odd that, with everything else in the poem being described in detail with multiple similes and metaphors, this car is only described as having “flashing lights” and the wind is only said to be “cold.” The lack of elaboration harkens to the intangible, mystical nature of God. It makes sense that the wind and car are fairly non-descript because God is not a physical being, He theoretically has no physical characteristics.

M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A by A. Van Jordan

M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A is the first volume of poetry I’ve encountered that is a fully developed, definite narrative (albeit not in a standard narrative form). Form is of enormous importance in this book, both on the macroscopic level (the book as a whole) and the more narrow level (each individual poem).

MA-C-N-O-L-I-A contains some formal elements that make sense given the subject matter and some that are seemingly counterintuitive. For instance, the work is divided into four sections that punctuate the volume quantitatively like the way a speller dissects a word letter by letter. It also contains poems that are quite formal with the sestina being a prime example. The methodical, highly structured form models the clinical nature of a spelling bee (and in case you’re not familiar with the spelling bee format, they have A LOT of rules). An important formal element on the macro scale is the nonlinear narrative. The story is told out of chronological order with the speakers changing several times. This reveals to us the disorder in MacNolia’s state of being and emotional condition after she was cheated out of the Spelling Bee. That a girl of such intelligence, work ethic, and high ambitions can end up as a “damn good maid” is sad and shows us the enormous emotional impact her loss had. The narrative’s structural disarray closely resembles the drastic turn that MacNolia’s life had.

Some counter-intuitive elements are the number of statements that, from a strictly logical standpoint, don’t make sense. Here’s one that pretty much sums it up: “And when the silence gets too loud,” which is from “When MacNolia Greases My Hair.” Another: “in the dark's light,” is from “Wedding Night.” These only add to the diversity of poetry in this work though. MA-C-N-O-L-I-A is characterized by its sheer unpredictability and the nonlinear narrative, four sections, contradictions, and variety of poetic forms only augment that unpredictability.