Book Review
by Lucinda Farrokh

Small Indulgence: A Review of Poetic Voices Without Borders

In mid-July, my husband and I drove to Nashville . On the trip there, scenery

— the stormy whitecaps on Hubbard Lake outside Dallas , the tall pines lining the East Texas and Arkansas highway, the murky expanse of the Mississippi at Memphis , and the roller-coaster mountain views of Tennessee —flashed through the windshield. But on the trip home, when the vista vanished along the tree-lined highway of Arkansas , I dug in my travel bag for a book to speed up time and spice up the journey.

I pulled out Poetic Voices Without Borders , edited by writer Rob ert L. Giron and published by Gival Press. Like most volumes of poetry, it is slim, only 187 pages (159 of poems and the rest used for the writer's biographical sketches)—perfect to slip in a travel tote. “Feel like some poetry?” I asked my husband as he drove. When I perused the Table of Contents, I recognized several names, but I had only read two of the poets, colleague and friend Randy Koch, whose column “On Writing” appears each month in LareDOS and Native American poet Joy Harjo, whose work I've taught in American lit classes at LCC.

I also found Gival Press's description of the volume as “an international anthology which includes notable national and international poets [writing] in three language…from six continents” intimidating. I can read French—grasp the literal meaning—but after 25 years of disuse, understanding poetic nuance is impossible. Moreover, the smattering of Spanish I've learned since coming to Laredo leaves me even less competent in that language. Fortunately, the English pieces (nearly 150) dominate the collection with thirty-five poems in Spanish and eight in French. One poet, editor Rob ert L. Giron, publishes work in all three languages, and several contributors have entries in English and Spanish.

As the title suggests, the anthology acknowledges no boundaries; the term “borders” is metaphorical and egalitarian. Gival Press also asserts, “This anthology intentionally is knocking down borders that separates [sic] the writing of poets be they male, female, straight, gay, white, black, Native American, liberal, conservative, religious, non-religious, pro-war, anti-war, young, middle-aged, old, American, Latin American, European, Asian, African, Australian, rich, poor, widely published or an emerging poet.”

The book is edgy with a literary inclusiveness that speaks to almost every reader, though the explicit language and/or sexual orientation of a few poets will offend some. A quick read of the biographies, however, may circumvent that problem. In many ways, the collection reminds me of my high school's acappella choir; voice, clear and powerful, is the central element. Some voices are sweet and lyrical; others, deep and rich. Some sooth; others grate. Each voice is unique, yet together they create oneness even as they individually represent societal diversity.

Most of the poems reflect the writers' personal experiences; others, like Koch's, the writers' creative viewpoint. But all of them trigger reaction—laughter, tears, a nod of agreement, or a desire to take the poet to task. Some poems puzzle with complexity or unfamiliar vocabulary. Others are clear and profound in their simplicity. Even though the book is organized alphabetically by author's last name rather than by subject, recurring themes leap at the reader throughout the volume, and many pieces are sprinkled with home languages (including Spanish), enriching their color and texture. Moving from work to work, poet-to-poet is like picking vine-ripened vegetables.

This variety also extends to form, from traditional couplets, quatrains, and sonnets to experimental free verse, from prose poems to slam, from pieces with standard grammar to those with slang or dialect. Readers will delight in the original images and metaphors. That every poem contains an admirable quality—even those I didn't warm to—speaks to the poets' skills.

For example, Antler's poetry does not excite me. I'm not fond of most slam poems. Perhaps it's my age, but for me the message, entangled in graphic street language, too often gets lost. Nonetheless, slam has changed the younger generation's view of poetry—from archaic to hip. Friday and Saturday nights bring them en masse to school auditoriums, restaurants, and slam poetry contests to perform their work. Slam began as a fad, but it has clearly caught on. The teacher in me just hopes it will open students to other poetic forms as well.

I don't have extensive criticism for the book's content, but one poem that should not have been included is “Transplant,” by Rosanna Armendariz. The poem is not completely original. Each stanza begins with Gloria Anzaldua's line, “To live in the Borderlands means you,” and though Armendariz follows with fresh ideas, her poem remains an exercise using a well-known poet's first line. Worse yet, she does not credit the original work.

The writing of gay poets, too, may offend some readers' sensibilities, but when one examines the imagery, metaphor, and universality of theme, the writing holds up. For example, Raymond Luczak personifies a shoe looking for love and craving the “perfect fit” in his poem, “I Am a Shoe,” and in “January” by Gregg Shapiro, everyone who has discovered an ex-love blossoming in a new relationship identifies with the writer's malaise.

Here are highlights from some of the poems I enjoyed.

Brenda Cardenas, featured with four pieces in English and two in Spanish, discusses themes of being Mexican American. The English poems are titled “Cartoon Coyote Goes Po-mo,” “The History Beneath Our Skin,” “Poem for the Tin-Tun-Teros,” and “Zacuanpapalotls” which I liked best. Rich in imagery, the poem equates Mexican American resiliency with the Monarch butterfly, “one life passing through the prism/ of all others” (lines 26-27).

Randy Koch's “Honor among Soldiers” is from his collection entitled The Deaths of the Conquistadores . Koch's poems are based on historical events, and in each one he adopts the voice of a Spanish conquistador, expressing the Spaniard's thoughts and feelings in the moments preceding his or her death. Here, Diego de Almagro's words, “better to die even in the company of enemies, of friends become enemies than to die along” (lines 15-16), rather surprisingly evoke empathy in the reader as does his anguished plea, “Don't leave my head on a pike in the sun” (line 11), words later rebuffed by friend-turned-enemy, Francisco Pizarro. As readers hear de Almagro's thoughts and fears, his voice bring to life a long dead character and his story, one that usually remains dead and dull on the pages of history texts.

“My Jar of Leeches” places a modern conundrum in an historical context. Like reality television, Jacqueline Jules' poem yanks readers in with a vivid description of leeches and their medical purpose—“Three-inch black worms/ wiggling in water” (lines 12-13) “fighting death by draining/ the source of strength” (lines 14-15). How is the medical use of leeches interwoven with modern life? Read it to find out; then you, too, can ponder the question left plaguing the narrator.

Steven Finch's “There/Here” is one of several poems discussing current world events. He chronicles terrorism since 9-11, contending that here (the U.S.) and there (everywhere else) are the same and asking musician T. Thomas' questions “Why Can't We Live Together” (line 33).

Ethiopian Myronn Hardy in “On a Bench: My Life' reveals an immigrant's memories of family, war, flight to a safer place, and the pain of being a survivor. The poem, one man's poignant experience, encapsulates the lives of thousands. Conversely, Jaime Manrique offers an emotional response as he couples the death of a friend's brother with ancestors and customs of the old country in “Return to the Country of My Birth.” Keith Scotcher's “Moskova” discloses the author's Russian roots, and Kim Rob erts' poem “The Back of My Hand” finds Lithuania “seeping through my pores” (line 22). This multicultural anthology gives voice to many, and overall, Latino writers throughout the western hemisphere—Ambroggio, Cardenas, Cellini, Don-Kotel, Bernal, Berroa, Gomez, Gonzalez, Guerrero, Manrique, Mayo, Iyodo, Rivera Cohen, Rodriguez, and Tandeciarz—are well represented.

“Lying in Bed” by Jeff Walt views the aging process, the “grey hair, or these bellies” (line 1) and “The wrinkles around our eyes/ like miniature highways” (lines 3-4). He exposes the reality of aging, but a later twist also demonstrates the comfort and dignity that accompany the aging process. Jeanell Buida Bolton's sonnet “To My Children” also speaks of growing old, of the agonies children face when dealing with elderly parents, and she provides sage advice in the ending couplet. Death is an ever-present theme, and in “Death Food,” Fran Jordan captures the irony of bringing food and the inability of everyday actions to relieve grief .

Peter Klappert's “Pennies on a Cracked Egg” makes imaginative use of items being boxed for moving to represent the “shards of a busted family” (lines 6-7). The speaker, the one being abandoned, points to maxim that though people begin anew, the past is never totally left behind.

“Passing as a Mulatto” by Allison Whittenberg introduces readers to four sisters, two light skinned and two dark, and spotlights the reality of discrimination—lighter skin being of more worth—within the African American community. In “After-Dinner Remarks,” Native American Susan Shown Harjo's political activism is evident in her acerbic denunciation of native stereotypes and immigration policies, and her words echo the anger and vigor of writers of the 1970s.

As my husband drove, I read the poems aloud. We had time to indulge, and reading poetry, in our demanding lives, is an indulgence. Books of poems no longer sit on bedside tables, but they should. Traditionally designed for quiet moments when one has the luxury to see through other's eyes, poetry is too often consigned to classrooms and summer vacations. A poem, like a glass of wine, is a small indulgence one should afford more often, and Poetic Voices Without Borders offers a delightful first sip.