Every Riven Thing
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Many readers think they know 海角大神 Wiman because they鈥檝e seen his work as editor of Poetry, the influential 鈥� and sometimes controversial 鈥� magazine. Or they have read his haunting 2007 essay 鈥淚nto the Abyss,鈥� where he revealed the dire medical diagnosis he received shortly after getting married.
Both those views are incomplete, which is why Every Riven Thing, his third and best collection of poems yet, is so compelling and important. The work here is searingly honest and beautifully crafted, and it establishes Wiman in his most important public role: a gifted poet whose work cannot be ignored.
Wiman鈥檚 talent is apparent from the opening pages, as are his two central struggles 鈥� with illness and faith. In 鈥淎fter the Diagnosis,鈥� the second poem, he writes about an apple sapling that had been blown 鈥渁lmost out of the ground鈥� by harsh winds that destroyed nearly everything around it. The image 鈥� a metaphor for Wiman鈥檚 situation 鈥� is poignant yet starkly hopeful, especially at the end of the poem:
... all days come down
to one clear pane
through which he sees
among all the other trees
this leaning, clenched, unyielding one
that seems cast
in the form of a blast
that would have killed it,
as if something at the heart of things,
and with the heart of things,
had willed it.
From there, Wiman moves to memories of Texas (where he grew up) and people he knew who, like the tree, were gritty, tough, and had their own unique splendor. In 鈥淔ive Houses Down鈥� Wiman describes the hours he spent helping a neighbor who 鈥渟alvaged鈥� junk cars and had a porch cluttered 鈥渨ith its oilspill plumage, tools/ cauled in oil, the dark/ clockwork of disassembled engines/ christened Sweet Baby and benedicted Old Bitch.鈥�
Wiman鈥檚 ability to love the unconventional or unlovely is one of the qualities that makes his work so memorable and, at times, endearing. In 鈥淪itting Down to Breakfast Alone,鈥� he recalls the tough grace and earthy wisdom of a waitress at the Longhorn Diner. She knew what to do 鈥� wordlessly 鈥� whenever one of the regulars died and his friends struggled with the transition. The poet, watching the drama unfold, understands her gesture, even as he looks down at his own 鈥減late鈥檚 gleaming, teeming emptiness.鈥�
These poems suggest that the strength and harshness Wiman experienced in Texas shape other experiences 鈥� and perhaps all of life. That duality becomes more prominent when the collection shifts to more recent memories of grueling treatments and the grief caused by one鈥檚 own mortality.
Wiman, who was raised a Baptist, sees every creature and object as riven (shattered or wrenched apart) and God as 鈥渁 storm of peace.鈥�
That storm continues throughout the book, because the God of riven things can鈥檛 offer much comfort or consolation. A beloved poodle biting snowflakes or flowers in the yard resonates more (for readers) than a remote deity.
Still, Wiman 鈥� who left 海角大神ity for many years 鈥� pursues God because he knows that nothing else in this world can save him and the life he loves. That鈥檚 why he writes, in the third section of poems: 鈥淔or I am come a whirlwind of wasted things/ and I will ride this tantrum back to God.鈥�
The whirlwind and the illness continue in the book鈥檚 fourth section. Yet here, at the end of 鈥淟ord of Having,鈥� Wiman declares:
and may my hands
my eyes
the very nub
of my tongue
be scrubbed
out of this hour
if I should utter
the dirty word
eternity
The book鈥檚 final poem is 鈥淕one for the Day, She is the Day,鈥� which conveys the deep love he feels for his wife. Yet even here, Wiman鈥檚 spiritual struggle surfaces, and he admits in the third stanza that 鈥渟ometimes one has the sense/ that to say the name/ God is a great betrayal.鈥�
The poem鈥檚 last stanza explores the nature of God as both love and judge, since:
To love is to feel your death
given to you like a sentence,
to meet the judge鈥檚 eyes
as if there were a judge,
as if he had eyes
and love.
Readers may question that description, but 鈥淓very Riven Thing鈥� makes two points very clear: Wiman is at the height of his powers, regardless of what doctors may tell him, and he deserves both praise and prayers.
Elizabeth Lund regularly reviews poetry for the Monitor.
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