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Editor’s Note: The arts are a significant thread in the fabric of Rockland County. They inspire, enrich, and chronicle our lives. They also play a role in our economic well-being; theater, writing, dance, crafts draw us to spaces. They invite strangers to share in our bounty. They are an indelible contribution. Welcome again, Christine Potter, a poet, to RCBJ.
Bryan Roessel: Truly Independent Poetry and Spoken Word
By Christine Potter
Poetry is a big tent, even in little Rockland County. In my friend group alone, there are poets who translate poetry from other languages into English, poets who almost always write in meter and rhyme, and poets who write verse so free it looks at first glance like paragraphs: prose poems. Some of us create verse for silent reading on a page or screen, but some make poems meant to be enjoyed out loud—and then finish the job with a performance.
Many poets publish in traditional ways: books and magazines created with a editor and a publisher. And some of us are true independents, putting out poetry collections and chapbooks edited, laid-out, and distributed by our own hands and wits.
Suffern’s Bryan Roessel is one of those independents. Bryan’s also very much in the spoken-word school, having hosted and performed at poetry events all over this part of the world.
In Bryan’s words: “The first collection I put together was when I was asked to be featured poet at a reading in Albany. It was my first featured reading, it was unpaid, and it was far. So I went to Staples and made some chapbooks to sell to pay for gas and tolls. I have done a bunch of readings since then and so at some point I decided to make an updated collection. And then most recently I was featuring at a reading in Yonkers and didn’t have any of my old books so I put together a new one.”
Practical. And smart! I’ve published several books myself, and I went the whole nine yards with ISBN numbers and sad little royalties. I also know how pleasant—and rare—it is to leave a reading with a few dollars in your pocket for the ride home.
Here’s a poem Bryan Roessel wrote about something magical that happens in the night sky sometimes—and also about the way our brains and souls work.
Iridium Flare
iridium flare:
when the sun-glint off a
satellite shines meteor-bright
before geometry and gravity
turn things wrong again.
i have my own iridium flare – it sits
on my nightstand, my sad-lite — machine-made
splinter of sunlight to remind my solar cells what
summer felt like
my depression is a discharged battery:
i turn the engine but the engine doesn’t turn
doesn’t matter that i have to go to work, or
already paid for the class, or my
friend is waiting for me:
ivy grows over me – heavy on my limbs
i need something stronger than volition
than one twenty volts or ten thousand steady desk lamp lux
i need lighting, mjolnir, asteroid,
fire from heaven to burn through these
roots, to repolarize these synaptic terminals
i need july and hollow bones and
feathers – need mountain tops and
sunny days – need summer breeze
reaching underneath me – lifting me from
ridgeline – elevating higher until i
am cloud – am stratosphere – am
escape velocity – until i am starburst – am
pre-dawn august constellation smiling
down – smiling and finally meaning it
I love the imaginative leaps in this poem: from the brilliant reflection of the iridium flare, to the SAD lamp that treats the narrator’s depression—and then up into space, looking back down and smiling. Depression truly is “a decharged battery” that needs “something stronger than volition.”
I had to look up the word mjolnir; I’m embarrassed to admit Norse mythology is not an area of my expertise, but the word is perfect here. It’s Thor’s hammer, a source of lightning and blessing. And it does its job in this poem; the final stanza is about “july and hollow bones and feathers.” And then the constellations of August before dawn.
Dang.
This poem’s got to be even better out loud. I’m jealous!
Bryan sees poetry as a source of healing—the poet’s a teacher in another life—and I wanted to quote from a long, open-form, jazzy prose poem of Bryan’s about how that works. We could all use some of poetry’s good medicine to get us through these angry, divisive times in our country. Here’s a true tonic. Like “Iridium Flare,” you’ve got to imagine it being performed:
meta doesn’t care about your artistic process.
bytedance isn’t personally invested in your human flourishing.
throw away the false dichotomy of content creator or consumer and
just smear pigments to page, tickle words into verse, not to make something pretty for the onlookers,
but because you need to. because you’re still human.
don’t do it for me. do it for that child you used to know so well and for the adult that child is continuously
becoming.
don’t post it anywhere. or – paste it onto storefronts and utility poles,
shout it at seagulls, place it gingerly atop a flat rock where a chipmunk might find it.
even if it’s not pretty
I was nodding along as I read this—but along came the “storefronts and utility poles” and the “flat rock where a chipmunk might find it.” Again—wonderful, very specific imaginative leaps. And an important message: give your art freely, not to make money for the oligarchs, but “for that child you used to know so well,” yourself. Bryan Roessel is a wise poet. Bryan will be hosting Rockland Poets’ usual monthly poetry slam at the Round Table Brewery on May 3rd, 6:30 to 9 PM. (https://www.meetup.com/rocklandpoets/events/307537896/?eventOrigin=group_similar_events)
In other news, Poetry Month ended with April, so those of us who create and read gobs of the stuff can take a nice, deep breath. Seemingly overnight, the trees around my house are in bloom—and so are my allergies. But that neon green is worth it. Happy spring! Time to celebrate the annual rebirth of everything. And here’s a poem I wrote about a year ago about wearing tie-dye as an old lady.
Wearing Tie-dye At Seventy-two
No, it’s not because I believe summer
lasts forever; of course it collapses into
cinnamon and smoke. Let’s say it’s like
opening a book I’ve already read, maybe
one I used to teach, a book from which I
could start reading you a paragraph
aloud, smile, and say the rest by heart.
And no, tie-dye wasn’t my favorite back
in the day; it was just memorable. So
why do I love it now? Because everyone
laughed at it—but see it still dancing
in this crazy noon? It’s laughing back, a
clown pointing one finger at the sun,
chaotic rainbows teasing the drain, but
not ready to slide down it yet—like me.
Let me leave you with a quick poetry assignment if you’re interested. My other gig is being the poetry editor at Eclectica, one of the original online lit mags. We run a feature every issue asking poets to make us a poem including four words we pick. It’s a free submission, and the mag is free to read online. Next issue’s words are unity, sunset, spoon, and moss. Have a go? Here’s the magazine: https://www.eclectica.org/index.html. See you in June!
