Book Review
Title: North of Wakulla: An Anhinga Anthology
Editors: Donna Decker and Mary Jane Ryals
Publisher: Anhinga Press
Date: September 1, 1989
ISBN: 978-0938078302
The poetry anthology North of Wakulla fulfills and rewards the reader with its outstanding assemblage of unique voices and compelling stories. The high-quality expression is consistent throughout the collection, which is an accomplishment in itself given more than 100 writers included. There are approximately 130 poems and every one motivates the reader onto the next. For this, we have to give credit to the editors of the volume, Donna Decker and May Jane Ryals (both also have poems in the anthology). Their intelligent organization lends both logical and artistic coherence to the flow, which helps readers like me who like to read many per sitting.
It’s beyond our scope to highlight all 130 poems, but I’ll talk briefly about a small subset of my favorites, with extra comments about some of the poets.
Geoffrey Brock’s “Villanelle for a Suicide” confronts a self-inflicted sorting out of confusions. The act peels away illusions, and leaves behind a slow dissolution of memory. The feeling of the moment is sparse, stark, and powerful. The reader senses that a thin psychological thread holds the mind and heart together on the edge of clarity and hope. Personal Note: I worked with Geoffrey Brock for a short time at Van Brock’s International Quarterly magazine headquarters (his apartment), in 1994–1995. Geoffrey is a gifted poet, translator, and overall thinker. You will not find a better artist or conversationalist.
Hal Shows’ poem “Visiting Rights” is very brief, and very moving. It reminded me of Dylan Thomas’ villanelle “Do not go gentle into that good night.” Shows’ verse is not a villanelle, but the impression of the two poems was very similar on a deeper level than mere form. Read it two or three times—it does not feel repetitive, it pulls you in deeper every time. (See my review of Hal Shows’ essay collection, The Bandshell Project.)
Bruce Boehrer’s “Sestina for Tea” seems like it should be a happy occasion in a cottage amid the snowy hills in June. But the scene degenerates, there is a malignancy somewhere in the atmosphere. The fireplace is heartless, the tap water brown, even the cottage is soggy. But then the cold landscape acquires a warm white heart, and the kettle is a blessing. Finally, all is a fading memory of distant hills, a strange fire, and a cottage no longer for rent. It’s a bit of a rollercoaster, but it sings like a musical ballad of heartwarming light mixed with heartless forgotten memories. Personal Note: Bruce Boehrer was my graduate Renaissance literature professor. He is a very entertaining teacher as well as poet.
Steve Huss’ “The Blue Shoe” begins with reminiscence of driving a white chevy, with faded radio dial, amid the hum of the highway and the smell of orange groves. The carefree spell is broken by the revelation of injury and bruising of the battered wife in the car. The abrupt twist is like falling off a cliff. This kind of mood switch is not easy to pull off, but Huss handles it very well in this poem. Personal note: I served with Steve Huss on the Anhinga Press board, the press that published this anthology. (See more about our board activities below in my “Personal Notes about My Friendship with Van Brock.”)
Nick Bozanic’s “After the Journey” is filled with haunting and vivid imagery with concrete, touchable, verbal illustrations. Bozanic’s full images remind me of Dickens in the pleasing use of language to conger lifelike experience for the reader. The experience is real. Bozanic also surprises with interesting twists—very nicely done. As a sidenote, Bozanic won the 1989 Anhinga prize for poetry, with his poetry collection Long Drive Home. I was on the Anhinga board during its selection and publication, and I was very proud to be a part of this great poet’s publication.
Harry Morris’ “To a Suicide I knew but Slightly” rings with cheer, in an eerie way. The bouncing lyrical style, the spritely rhyming, starkly contrasts with the sad and desperate content. The form jarringly antagonizes the content. It is not surprising that Morris would know poetry. He was the Shakespeare scholar and professor at Florida State University (I studied Shakespeare under Professor Morris). You can read my book review of Dr. Morris’ landmark study, Last Things in Shakespeare.
Julie Weiler’s “Pieces Missing” pulls the reader into an everyday scene, sitting at a table, made suddenly immediate by the sister’s death. The pieces of a photo, and especially the missing pieces, collapse into the heart of emptiness. But there is a redeeming memory of “hands clasped tightly together.” The poem starts with a hard, commonplace environment, then changes into a hollow sadness tempered by a delicate hope. It is a great piece of writing. Personal note: I served with Julie Weiler on the Anhinga Press board, the press that published this anthology. (See more about our board activities below in my “Personal Notes about My Friendship with Van Brock.”)
Another outstanding talent featured in this anthology is Jerome Stern. His poem in the book, “Appeal,” propels the reader through a frenetic appeal for help, for funding, for rescue. Government agents steal equipment, hamsters keep the turntable spinning. The broken down studio atmosphere feels like many old shoestring-budget broadcasting enterprises. Stern seems to have personal experience with them. In the early 1990s, Stern was known for his NPR radio spot in which he read his cultural essays. Stern led the creative writing program at Florida State University until his death in 1996. He was the only professor I knew who rode a bicycle to work every day. It had a basket on the handlebars which typically contained a few books. Stern was also the author of one of the best books on writing, Making Shapely Fiction.
David Kirby’s “Madame Zebouni and Mr. White” tells the funny tale of the poet’s undergraduate schoolboy crush on his French teacher. He is just getting closer to her, when she tells him of her father who throws her suitors out of third-story windows. He then sinks into an infinitely deferred capture of the right word, le mot juste, struggling among the monks translating classics, lost in the old wing of romance languages and vulgar tongues. There is a wistful sadness beneath the funny surface. The fun of the piece should not hide the carefulness of the poet in constructing this verse so perfectly (echoes of Mr. White). Personal note: Professor David Kirby was on my thesis committee. Great guy too.
P. V. LeForge cannot stop himself, he always has to tell a story. Whether a novel, a short story, or a poem, you may expect to be taken on a thought-provoking trip. You will experience oddities, joys, frustrations, and sadness. In every event, you will find truth and meaning. LeForge’s poem “White” in this anthology is no exception. In this case we find ourselves burning up and freezing to death, while searching for survival clues, both spiritual and physical. Each line carries the reader forward, much like a compelling plotline, but with the poetic care and rigor for each word. LeForge also wrote a great short story collection called the Principle of Interchange, which I also reviewed here. As a side note, Mr. LeForge owned and operated the locally famous Paperback Rack bookstore in Tallahassee (no longer in operation). I didn’t exactly known him, except well enough to chat about the books I was buying in his shop, and to greet when passing on the FSU campus or around town.
Van K. Brock’s poem “Novas” radiates the bright colors of miraculous flowers, interrupted by fire ants and homicide, which guide the traveler among the stars to find direction and meaning. Typical of Van Brock’s poetry, each stanza packs a punch on its own, with strong anchored expression—while also serving as the perfect segue to the next stanza. This is a talent few poets possess, but which Brock possesses to perfection. (See more about Van Brock below in my “Personal Notes about My Friendship with Van Brock.”)
The publication of North of Wakulla was celebrated with a gathering of many of the poets in the anthology, others involved in the making of the book, and those otherwise affiliated with the Anhinga Press. I attended the Launch Party, which was held at the Chez Pierre restaurant in Tallahassee, Florida, in the early fall of 1989 (if I remember right). It was a lot of fun, and a rare treat to mingle among so many interesting people and so much talent in one place.
Personal Notes about My Friendship with Van K. Brock
The dedication of the anthology reads:
“To Van Brock, who lives poetry and has made it come alive in Tallahassee.”
A review of this anthology would not be complete without a tribute to Poet and Professor Van K. Brock. Indeed, half the poets in the anthology would not have grown as much or as well without Van’s guidance and inspiration.
For those who are not aware, Van Brock was an internationally acclaimed poet, active from 1970 through the 2010s. He was the founder and president of the Anhinga Press, which sponsored and spearheaded the publication of this anthology. It is yet another way that Van Brock brought meaning to the lives of so many people. The anthology remains a tribute to his talent and dedication, especially helping other poets develop and mature.
In early 1989, Van Brock invited me to join the Anhinga Press board. I served on it 1989–1990 with Van, Julie Weiler, and Steve Huss (all three of them have poems in this anthology). I have wonderful memories meeting weekly with Van, Julie, and Steve for Anhinga business. There was no office. Van, Julie, Steve, and I met weekly at Anthony’s Restaurant (corner of Thomasville Rd. and E. Bradford Rd. in Tallahassee, Florida). We talked poetry, discussed poetry-contest applicants (and winners), promotional activities, financial business (Steve’s specialty), as well as general discussions of literature, philosophy, and gastronomical topics.
Van Brock and I had another phase of literary activity later, 1994–1995, working together almost daily at his apartment on the International Quarterly literary magazine (especially Voices Across Continents and Fifty Years of Fallout). Van’s apartment was the magazine’s office. It was usually filled with people (editors, proofreaders, layout specialists, etc.). The apartment had a great balcony, where during the days, Van, the other editors, and I selected manuscripts, edited, and talked about philosophy and poetry. We would work all day, and then sometimes after everyone else had left, Van would pour a glass of vodka for himself and me, and we’d keep working a couple more hours. He let me browse through his books, and one evening gave me a copy of Henry James’ Italian Hours, knowing I was an avid reader of James.
Van moved west, ending up in Arkansas; I moved to Pennsylvania. We stayed in touch through the late 1990s and 2000s, at first by email, then later by Facebook. But it was those days in the 1980s and 1990s that Van and I really hung out and shared a lot of life and work. Van passed away March 1, 2017 (Oct 31, 1932—Mar. 1, 2017). He was a great poet and a great man. I am just another person whose life was brightened by him.