A gay man finds spiritual exaltation in the realm of the senses in this debut poem.
The narrator of this pilgrimage in verse starts out in the barren shallows of the hookup scene vetting potential partners on their most superficial iPhone traits: “Grindr sounds / Hi / Too thin / Send saved phrase / Sorry, you’re not quite my type / Grindr sounds / Hi / Too short / Sorry, you’re not quite my type.” Tiring of the daily Grindr, he repairs to a Christian retreat (despite his being a Hindu). Ensconced in a Spartan room with an icon, candle, rug, and no mirror to feed his narcissism, he embarks on a bout of contemplation fueled not by the artificial stimulation of screens but by unmediated encounters with raw sensations as simple as chewing a bread roll. (“Crisp outside, soft inside….One small seed / Stuck in my molar / Like a small animal / Hidden in its cave.”) He also comes upon the form of a young man who merges with the figure of Jesus in the poet’s imagination. The poet’s blossoming relationship with Jesus is imbued with devotion (“Can I love him with all my heart…And with all my mind?”) but is also frankly sexual—“I sense him here,” he writes after a masturbatory shower scene; “He will come to bed with me / If I want.” And whimsically romantic: “Come, let’s have breakfast, Jesus….Come, let’s eat a chocolate, Jesus.” Kolmannskog’s delicately erotic poem is drenched in Christian symbolism (“I take off my shirt / I dry his feet with it / I find some fragrant oil / I massage his feet”) but also partakes of earthier and more piquant imagery, likening the memory of love, for example, to a mosquito bite. Some readers may be taken aback by the embrace of Jesus as a personal boyfriend, but the physicality adds intensity to the poem’s soulfulness.
A lyrical study of passion, both religious and carnal.
A collection of poetry focuses on everyday beauty and wonder.
Over the course of 50 poems with straightforward titles, retired high school English teacher Hathwell (Between Dog and Wolf, 2017, etc.) explores the world around him. Nature is a touchstone of his poetry. In “Poplar,” he expertly describes the titular tree “catching a breeze, flutter sage and silver wings” while in “Sunflower,” he lingers on the “wide blank face” of the “saddest flower.” The author also showcases culture in his poems. “Fred’s Girl” is a propulsive ode to the Fred Astaire–Paulette Goddard duet in the film Second Chorus, and “Sunday at the Symphony” captures the ethereal experience of live classical music. But the poems aren’t limited to the author’s immediate surroundings. A visit to the Spanish Steps, where Keats died in 1821, is the subject of “Readiness Is Everything,” which encourages readers to “imagine the world without you.” Hathwell plays with humor in “Dust Is Winning,” about the futile fight to keep things clean, and shows his cynical side in “Red Dress,” which describes the “ruby radiance” of an ensemble depicted in advertising. The act of writing is another recurring theme in this collection. “Song” depicts a successful writing day, in which “I rise from my desk, / Majestic, and I dance,” while “Sure Thing” warns readers “that language is prepared to lie / When you ask it to.” Quiet moments are also rich material for the poet. Throughout, he matches his message to the pacing of the poem, creating an immersive experience for readers. In “Finding Myself in the Morning,” readers sink into Hathwell’s serene, solitary scene where he can finally “not wonder / who is speaking, or what comes next.” In “Ten O’Clock,” the audience can sense the descent into a “deep, forgiving sleep.” The one flaw of this collection is its breadth. Because everything from Astaire to flora is fair game, the individual poems don’t always flow from one to the next, and transitions can be jarring.
Like the demigod from which it takes its name, Defining Atlas is a durable, uplifting volume.
A strong current of self-affirmation, self-love, and self-confidence runs through this work, and readers will come away feeling their spirits improved. We feel some of this current in the clever “Limited”; Michaels takes the titular subject and turns it on its head: “I’m new, but I’m old / Not limited beyond my means and methods / But limited because I’m special / Special beyond the heavens and everything that surrounds me / That I’m among…limited.” Elsewhere in “From the ashes…I am,” he sings a hard-won song of renewal and rebirth: “I am victory in its rawest form / I am hope that never conform / I am the will, the drive, and the truth / I am like everyone, like you.” But Michaels does not hoard specialness or victory for himself; he wants it for his reader too, and in “Wake Up!” he urges us on toward a bright future: “There’s something good here for you / Your purpose can never be defined by just one blue / Your destiny awaits you.” Underpinning Michaels’ stirring message is a strong faith in God, whose presence infuses many of the poems here: “But I always thank God for the latter / For the strength and will it takes / Shines so bright / Shines so right.” Michaels often adopts a loose scheme of rhyming couplets, and this decision leads to one of the book’s few weaknesses. Too often, the poet picks awkward or odd pairings; e.g., “And if I could become a perfect saint / I would make believers out of the ones who say they ain’t” and the “you/blue” couplet mentioned above. But such missteps are infrequent, and they don’t dim the warm light that emanates from Michaels’ fine volume.