by James H Duncan
One of the most unique aspects of Nancy Iannicci’s new book,
Temptation of Wood, is how the poems
each feel like transmissions from different moments in time, from a
tempestuous, harrowing, and almost pre-apocalyptic future in her opening piece
“Traffic” to a somber sense of nostalgia in “A Flower in a Frost Cover,” in
which a poet contemplates the empty spaces of time that keep passing by:
I live
like a
shadow,
he
said. So I’m just
gonna lie here until my candle
burns to the ground…
The
poems seem to exist in three worlds at once: a fabled yesteryear where memories
are born; an aching present where nostalgia grips tight; and a tarnished
tomorrow where poems roam endless highways and shadowy nights of neon and hope,
of desperation and delicacy—a gripping journey through the dark night of our
modern reality.
Another thing that stands out is how so many poems have a strong sense of movement, of travel, of
never feeling settled. In “Taxis to Nowhere” our poet cries, “I have
to go! I have to go where I feel most happy & right now here isn’t it.” And when we do stop
moving for a moment, there are wondrous, mysterious, almost mythical things to
discover, as in the poem “Ischia ”:
Drifting
through Italy
cobblestone
streets,
he
faced Ischia again
in a
small, shadowy café.
She
coiled his tongue
like
ivy slipping
down
his throat faster
than
he could inhale.
The
delicacy of her taste
at a
moment of compulsion
debilitated
his godliness.
She
was volcanic and
made him feel mortal.
The collection begins to feel almost Odyssey-like with its
movement and reflections, journeys filled with Beat poet references and
otherworldly characters, hopping all over our subconscious and yet seamless in transition from one poem to the next. In the hands of a lesser
writer this style might feel choppy, but Iannucci uses excellent flow, timing,
and wordplay to give the entire collection a feeling of belonging, that every
line and poem is vital to the overall message. Even at its most chaotic, the work feels on-theme.
For example, in “The White Building,” we get that same
kaleidoscope sense of movement, place, and purpose all at once:
It was
the
place:
Islands ,
manuals,
waxed curbs, ledges,
drops
& pothole deficient
asphalt.
A hum
of bees swarmed
menacing
& echoing off
of its
parking garage walls.
I
could hear the vibrations
from
across the street
sitting
in Gino’s Pizzeria.
I
crossed back
over
the road when
it was safe.
We’re there, entering a memory, and it’s all happening at
once, our mind shooting all over like a pinball in a bonus round, but there’s meaning too it, a narrowing down to the heart of the poem, a white building, a
pause, a reflection, connecting this busy entrance to a mile marker way back in
the memory that stands still while the world around it rumbles and rotates. So
many of the poems here do that, hold a piece of ground while time passes, while
the landscape shifts. You get hectic pieces, then moments of clarity, just like
life.
And what good is poetry if it doesn’t take you all over time
and space to remind you of why we’re here? To remind you that life is messy,
but some things will never leave you? The poems started to make me remember my
own such moments, and perhaps the best compliment I could give a collection:
the poems made me want to write about my own memories.
I highly recommend this collection, which should be available
any time now from Nixes Mate Press. Keep an eye out.
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