Synopsis
Winner--1998 Lenore Marshall Poetry PrizeFinalist--1997 National Book Critics Circle Award"In Questions for Ecclesiastes, Mark Jarman takes on the idea of holiness in an unholy world, of spiritual realities in secular America... His poems made me think of altars, the kind we sometimes make unconsciously on a side-table or dresser where we deposit sea shells, pebbles, lost buttons, and other interesting finds, arranging them just so, as if to make an offering to an unknown god."-Charles Simic, Judge, The Academy of American Poets"A devout and learned exploration of the absence and silence of God."-The Philadelphia Inquirer"In this deeply impressive collection, Jarman is concerned with God, His grace, and humans' relations with Him... In 20 'Unholy Sonnets,' he takes up matters of theology directly and so appositely for these times that some of them may become pulpit as well as anthology staples."-Ray Olson, Booklist"
Reviews
In his latest collection, Jarman (The Black Riviera, 1990) reveals scenes from his life as a teenage surfer in California and as a husband and father: "To lie in your child's bed when she is gone/ Is as calming as anything I know. To fall/ Asleep, her books arranged above your head." Other, less ruminative works grapple with the possibility of God and the condition of humanity. The narrative "Transfiguration" conflates the words of Christ with the advice of a modern-day physician: "And he said, 'All things are possible to those who believe. Shave her head,/ Insert a silicone tube inside her skull, and run it under her scalp.'" The irony in such poems is inescapable; not so clear are the points this irony is intended to serve. In the title poem, phrases from Ecclesiastes blend with an account of a contemporary teenage suicide. It ends: "And God,/ who could have shared what he knew with people who needed/ urgently to hear it, God kept a secret." The sequence "Unholy Sonnets" expands this protest, variously addressing God as "Gracious Lord," "First Letter of the Alphabet, Last Word,/ Mutual Satisfaction, Cash Award," and "O Big Idea." A man afflicted with trials like Job's asks why: "And God grumped from his rain cloud, 'I can't say./ Just something about you pisses me off.'" Jarman posits-and challenges-a God remote from human experience in these poems, which, despite their rhymes and structures, ring a too discursive note and offer little sense of movement. (Jan.) FYI: Jarman co-edited Rebel Angels: 25 Poets of the New Formalism (1996).
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.
In his sixth collection, Jarman (The Reaper Essays, LJ 7/1/96), a preacher's son, continues his impressive probe into the meaning and pretenses of holiness. With a biblical cadence, he devotes carefully articulated attention to the life around him. His forte lies in his ability to cherish things as minuscule as the buttonholes on a child's dress. "You write about the life that's vividest./ And if that is your own, that is your subject," he says. But the vitality of these poems stems not from Jarman's interesting life but from a craft so honed that even needed raindrops can be viewed as "Magi, holy children,/ Entering the sand." Technique, unfortunately, gets the best of him in a series of 20 "Unholy Sonnets," perhaps intentionally trivial but nonetheless irritating. Elsewhere, Jarman handles formal poetry extremely well. "The Past from the Air," a seven-part sequence, sacrifices absolutely none of its intensity for rhyme. Ultimately, this volume is two books in one: in the first half, the caring adult writes in free-verse about his friends, wife, and children; in the second half, more formal poems recapture the child's eye-view. Twenty pages of weak poetry is barely noticed when surrounded by such magnificence.?Rochelle Ratner, formerly Poetry Editor, "Soho Weekly News," New York
Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc.
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