Maria C. McCarthy explores an engaging and evocative poem sequence by Jane Lovell
Metastatic
Jane Lovell
Against the Grain, 2018
ISBN 978-1-9997907-3-8
ÂŁ5.00
I was sent to the dictionary more than once in the reading of this exquisite cycle of twenty poems. Whilst looking up the definitions of bocage (âTen Daysâ) and â spiculatedâ (âYour pictureâ), I also explored the meaning of the title, Metastatic, a word that foreshadows the collection. With âstaticâ, there is a standing still, though the crackles of electricity also come to mind. Prefixed with âmetaâ, âstaticâ changes to a medical definition: an adjective describing the development of secondary tumours. Its origin, though, is âremoval or changeâ.
There is a duality throughout the work: light and dark; living and dead; the wider landscape and âa world now smaller than a day, / a room.â (âFirefliesâ); the natural world and the scientific. Each of these pairings is a leitmotif in the collection, and words are repeated, sometimes in the same poem. âHorizonâ is used in the opening poem, âTen Daysâ, as a boundary to âour whole worldâ, expressed as an idyllic landscape at first; but later, âthe man who reads bloodâ delivers âthat word that draws the horizon / into a knotâ.
âHorizonâ recurs in âTwo figures in an extensive landscapeâ, a standout poem in this collection: âThey spent too long watching the horizon / while he sidled inâ, with cancer personified, a figure âuntying the windows for the moths to enter / and the years to leave.â This poem draws together much of the imagery that runs throughout Metastatic: a world seen through glass or trapped behind glass; the light of fireflies as a fleeting, ânauseous bloomâ in âthese dark hoursâ; the natural world in âlandscapes folded like mapsâ; the body as landscape.
Light and dark coexist, and often serve as metaphors for the living, the dying, and the dead. The âdead lightâ of âunexpected starsâ in âYour pictureâ illuminates âthe curve of a hareâ, and suggests that the light, the spirit, of the unnamed person with the unnamed disease â the word âcancerâ is never used â will similarly survive beyond their death. Meanwhile, they are caught in the ârelentless lightâ of a hospital room (âOne day the rainâ), considering âthe neon mountain rangeâ of a heart monitor. âThe Same Darknessâ follows, two poems further on: âYou fade to shadowâ, and here the word âghostâ is used, which recurs in other poems.
Creatures of folklore are summoned: hares, owls, a vixen. Sometimes their significance is made explicit. âSolaceâ begins âCrows become symbols these darks months, / appearing like omensâ. Elsewhere, readers will divine their own meanings from âPerspective in a Hareâs eyeâ and âOwl feather, Richardâs Castleâ.
The contained world, âsmaller than a dayâ in the early poem âFirefliesâ, extends to wider horizons in âListenâ, and other later poems. Now there are âcontinentsâ, âoceansâ, âunknown mountainsâ. âEarth resumes its hummingâ in âEquivocalâ. In the final poem, âStrange worldâ, there is the solace of the natural world after loss; a move to the outside, after âthe quiet darkâ:
and every dawn
the thrush in the park
with its thin bones
and its minor key
so pure and unpredictable
untying a new day.
London Grip Poetry Review – Jane Lovell
January 27, 2019 by Michael Bartholomew-Biggs • books, poetry reviews, year 2019 • Tags: books, Maria C. McCarthy, poetry • 0 Comments
Maria C. McCarthy explores an engaging and evocative poem sequence by Jane Lovell
I was sent to the dictionary more than once in the reading of this exquisite cycle of twenty poems. Whilst looking up the definitions of bocage (âTen Daysâ) and â spiculatedâ (âYour pictureâ), I also explored the meaning of the title, Metastatic, a word that foreshadows the collection. With âstaticâ, there is a standing still, though the crackles of electricity also come to mind. Prefixed with âmetaâ, âstaticâ changes to a medical definition: an adjective describing the development of secondary tumours. Its origin, though, is âremoval or changeâ.
There is a duality throughout the work: light and dark; living and dead; the wider landscape and âa world now smaller than a day, / a room.â (âFirefliesâ); the natural world and the scientific. Each of these pairings is a leitmotif in the collection, and words are repeated, sometimes in the same poem. âHorizonâ is used in the opening poem, âTen Daysâ, as a boundary to âour whole worldâ, expressed as an idyllic landscape at first; but later, âthe man who reads bloodâ delivers âthat word that draws the horizon / into a knotâ.
âHorizonâ recurs in âTwo figures in an extensive landscapeâ, a standout poem in this collection: âThey spent too long watching the horizon / while he sidled inâ, with cancer personified, a figure âuntying the windows for the moths to enter / and the years to leave.â This poem draws together much of the imagery that runs throughout Metastatic: a world seen through glass or trapped behind glass; the light of fireflies as a fleeting, ânauseous bloomâ in âthese dark hoursâ; the natural world in âlandscapes folded like mapsâ; the body as landscape.
Light and dark coexist, and often serve as metaphors for the living, the dying, and the dead. The âdead lightâ of âunexpected starsâ in âYour pictureâ illuminates âthe curve of a hareâ, and suggests that the light, the spirit, of the unnamed person with the unnamed disease â the word âcancerâ is never used â will similarly survive beyond their death. Meanwhile, they are caught in the ârelentless lightâ of a hospital room (âOne day the rainâ), considering âthe neon mountain rangeâ of a heart monitor. âThe Same Darknessâ follows, two poems further on: âYou fade to shadowâ, and here the word âghostâ is used, which recurs in other poems.
Creatures of folklore are summoned: hares, owls, a vixen. Sometimes their significance is made explicit. âSolaceâ begins âCrows become symbols these darks months, / appearing like omensâ. Elsewhere, readers will divine their own meanings from âPerspective in a Hareâs eyeâ and âOwl feather, Richardâs Castleâ.
The contained world, âsmaller than a dayâ in the early poem âFirefliesâ, extends to wider horizons in âListenâ, and other later poems. Now there are âcontinentsâ, âoceansâ, âunknown mountainsâ. âEarth resumes its hummingâ in âEquivocalâ. In the final poem, âStrange worldâ, there is the solace of the natural world after loss; a move to the outside, after âthe quiet darkâ: