Can writing poetry console? Can it deliver solace in the face of
unbearable grief? Perhaps more to the point—can poetry do or accomplish
anything that aids ordinary people in coping with the human condition? I think
so. Apparently, so does Sara Dailey. Her book of poems, Earlier Lives, looks at
anguish in an angular, near scientific way that includes sharp observations and
a hygienic reductionism. Together Dailey’s collection of poems deals with the
traumatic loss of her younger brother in a motorcycle accident, made more
intense by her broken family history and the subsequent closeness of their
sibling relationship. Throughout the book the poet studies the various facets
of her overwhelming sorrow and that very act seems to engender a useful
catharsis. Indeed, Dailey lords over her tempestuous territory with absolute
control and the reader gets to see this commanding poet define a very difficult
subject.
“Listen and I will fill your ears with truth,” says Dailey in her
opening and introductory poem, Globe Artichoke. She lets her readers know that
they are in for a rough, not a smooth experience. The tipped spikes and
leathery scales need to be worked through and the density needs to be thinned
out. The poet continues,
…What you desire of me, sparse
in proportion to what you will discard.
Ardi shauk, ground thorn, artichoke:
Like a throat full of accordions
in a sommelier’s nightmare,
Come taste my heart.
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