On the Scene: Marie Howe Shines
by Alex Dimitrov
Tuesday February 19, 2008
One of the most anticipated literary events in New York this past winter was Marie Howe’s poetry reading at the 92nd Street Y Unterberg Poetry Center alongside Polish poet Adam Zagajewski on December 6th. Howe, who has taught at Sarah Lawrence since 1993, read from her upcoming book, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, her first in ten years. The tone of the poems was noticeably different than that of Howe’s last collection, What the Living Do which dealt with subject matter ranging from an alcoholic father, attempting to conceive a child, to the very memorable narrative of the death of her brother John from AIDS.
In her new book Howe is interested in the notion of ordinary time, which refers to periods in the liturgical calendar that are not obviously miraculous (not high holy periods like lent, for example). Before reading the title poem Howe commented on how she finds ordinary time especially worth thinking about in our current state of the world, “when so many people are willing to die for their beliefs and yet so many of us don’t know what we believe.” Keeping this thought in mind and listening to other poems from the book, it seems that Howe has been informed by a post 9-11 reality where as she gracefully puts it, “People, listening and watching, nodded and wept, and,/ leaving the theater,/ one turned to the other and said, What do you want to/ do now?/ And the other one said, I don’t know. What do you want/ to do?” Other poems found Howe urgently contemplating the challenges of the everyday – running errands, hurrying home, and being a mother, a new addition to her life since her last book. She also shared several poems from a series in the voice of Mary before she became the mother of Jesus, a time in her life rarely written about in literature.
What is remarkable about Howe as a reader is her ability to address the audience as a result of her conversational delivery. When read to us her poems feel lucid, insightful and carry with them a deep resonance. Her aura is intriguing and welcoming – the trademark big hair and a voice which sounds so hauntingly familiar, the woman next to me turned to her friend and said, “I feel like I hear her telling my story and she’s telling it better than even I know it.” This kind of close connection was evident at a place like the 92nd Street Y, a traditional venue for poetry that observes a distinct separation between audience and writer. Howe wasn’t interested in this kind of division. She prompted laughter from her listeners and engaged them in questions and personal anecdotes between poems. At her request the lights were turned up so she could see everyone and make eye contact with them during her time on stage. It was obvious that she succeeded in establishing a relationship with her audience, something often attempted but not felt at poetry readings.
At the signing afterward those in attendance seemed more engaged even with one another. “Isn’t that book terrific,” a woman pointed to a man’s copy of What the Living Do. “At first I couldn’t finish it because I found myself typing out each poem right after I’d read it and sending it to friends over e-mail. Until they had to tell me to stop because they went out and bought the book immediately.” Walking out of the 92nd Street Y I felt lucky that we still have poetry that does that to people.
