Maria C. McCarthy is both entertained and puzzled by the poems in a debut collection by Dawn Watson
The Stack of Owls is Getting Higher
Dawn Watson
The Emma Press, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-912915-33-0
ÂŁ6.50
I chose this attractive pamphlet of fifteen poems to review because of its intriguing title. Why a âstack of owlsâ? More on this later.
This is Dawn Watsonâs debut pamphlet, and the settings vary from Georgia, Tennessee and the Carolinas to the poetâs native Belfast. Rivers and heat feature strongly, creating an atmosphere of languid water, stillness, decay, and mystery. Startling use of strong verbs is evident, such as âCypress plumb / the banks of the Ogeecheeâ, and âThe clumped hanging moss is tickled / at the memory. The pitchfork shivers.â (âHow To Kill Snakes with a Slipperâ).
Dawn Watson uses a range of forms and shapes of poem: some look like sonnets (or near-sonnets) on the page, but do not follow a classic sonnetâs scheme. This poet goes her own way. Some poems are long, one right-justified on the page, another with lines so long that it is printed in landscape (âThe M1 to Belfastâ).
âChicken Wingsâ is a concrete poem; a prose poem, in fact, as it appears that the words have been poured into the column at the centre of the page. The poem begins with a God âdescribed as a bar / of horizontal lightâ and moves onto the subject of chicken wings. The poem is packed with sensory details, abstract concepts of God and light transmuted into âsolid, angular radianceâ. This phrase is repeated towards the end and applied to an idea of how chicken wings might be served, also as a horizontal bar, âmoulded stiff with celery, sauce and dip.â
Watsonâs juxtaposition of the realistic and metaphorical is ever- surprising. In âDonât Shoot, Sirâ, there is a threatening situation of being stopped by the police for a traffic violation, which slips into the surreal. In other poems, unreality pervades throughout, as in âPeach Seasonâ. A woman leaves her wife and son to pick peaches, and disappears from their lives. As in many of Watsonâs poems, the reader is made to work hard to divine meaning. There are extraordinary images: âOne night / she tucked / her wild legs beneath her and unscrewed them at the hip.â I must confess to being baffled by some of these, such as âAfter a year, they scanned the fresh-cut field / for a rare sight / of dolphins.â
Interspersed are more accessible poems, such as âAdvice for Campersâ, and the devastating âNon-Biological Motherhood in Euclidean Termsâ, which has a GP general manager saying, âNon-biological mothers from same-sex couple / are not equal to biological mothers / in emergency situationsâ.
A favourite poem for this reader is âWe Can Chat About It by Teletext Which I know Is Impossibleâ. This imagines using a defunct technology to work slowly and painfully through an imagined conversation with an ex-lover. It unfolds beautifully, working towards the questions, âare you happy? / Are you glad weâre not friends?â
As for the title, âThe stack of owls is getting higherâ appears as a stand-alone line in âYellow Punkins on the Ooleneyâ, bearing no relation to any other part of the poem. After reading it several times, unlike the legendary wisdom of owls, I am none the wiser as to its meaning.
This short collection showcases a huge range of skills and topics, but most of all, Dawn Watsonâs powerful imagination and slanted world view. I would hope to see a full collection, perhaps on a unified theme.
London Grip Poetry Review – Dawn Watson
October 10, 2019 by Michael Bartholomew-Biggs • books, poetry reviews, year 2019 • Tags: books, Maria C. McCarthy, poetry • 0 Comments
Maria C. McCarthy is both entertained and puzzled by the poems in a debut collection by Dawn Watson
I chose this attractive pamphlet of fifteen poems to review because of its intriguing title. Why a âstack of owlsâ? More on this later.
This is Dawn Watsonâs debut pamphlet, and the settings vary from Georgia, Tennessee and the Carolinas to the poetâs native Belfast. Rivers and heat feature strongly, creating an atmosphere of languid water, stillness, decay, and mystery. Startling use of strong verbs is evident, such as âCypress plumb / the banks of the Ogeecheeâ, and âThe clumped hanging moss is tickled / at the memory. The pitchfork shivers.â (âHow To Kill Snakes with a Slipperâ).
Dawn Watson uses a range of forms and shapes of poem: some look like sonnets (or near-sonnets) on the page, but do not follow a classic sonnetâs scheme. This poet goes her own way. Some poems are long, one right-justified on the page, another with lines so long that it is printed in landscape (âThe M1 to Belfastâ).
âChicken Wingsâ is a concrete poem; a prose poem, in fact, as it appears that the words have been poured into the column at the centre of the page. The poem begins with a God âdescribed as a bar / of horizontal lightâ and moves onto the subject of chicken wings. The poem is packed with sensory details, abstract concepts of God and light transmuted into âsolid, angular radianceâ. This phrase is repeated towards the end and applied to an idea of how chicken wings might be served, also as a horizontal bar, âmoulded stiff with celery, sauce and dip.â
Watsonâs juxtaposition of the realistic and metaphorical is ever- surprising. In âDonât Shoot, Sirâ, there is a threatening situation of being stopped by the police for a traffic violation, which slips into the surreal. In other poems, unreality pervades throughout, as in âPeach Seasonâ. A woman leaves her wife and son to pick peaches, and disappears from their lives. As in many of Watsonâs poems, the reader is made to work hard to divine meaning. There are extraordinary images: âOne night / she tucked / her wild legs beneath her and unscrewed them at the hip.â I must confess to being baffled by some of these, such as âAfter a year, they scanned the fresh-cut field / for a rare sight / of dolphins.â
Interspersed are more accessible poems, such as âAdvice for Campersâ, and the devastating âNon-Biological Motherhood in Euclidean Termsâ, which has a GP general manager saying, âNon-biological mothers from same-sex couple / are not equal to biological mothers / in emergency situationsâ.
A favourite poem for this reader is âWe Can Chat About It by Teletext Which I know Is Impossibleâ. This imagines using a defunct technology to work slowly and painfully through an imagined conversation with an ex-lover. It unfolds beautifully, working towards the questions, âare you happy? / Are you glad weâre not friends?â
As for the title, âThe stack of owls is getting higherâ appears as a stand-alone line in âYellow Punkins on the Ooleneyâ, bearing no relation to any other part of the poem. After reading it several times, unlike the legendary wisdom of owls, I am none the wiser as to its meaning.
This short collection showcases a huge range of skills and topics, but most of all, Dawn Watsonâs powerful imagination and slanted world view. I would hope to see a full collection, perhaps on a unified theme.