when the snakes scattered: a rattling yes
the colors died in your arm
when you were pulsed
you could feel it
right about the temple
and in the bone-etch
stretching, each
rim’s reach—
firm becoming a form
until the ache was done
when you’d completed all your fowl
your jawbone
whipped shut
learning gentility transformed
another spot
for ice to grin into water
you leaned in
to stain the lip of some land
wearing the best imitation
of a polo shirt
and high-sport slacks
the sort of measurements
that roll out the cage
of each night being drawn
as new
gets handed
sand for the gritting
wool
dressings smattered with evening numbers
forget your skull’s
wet what dings it
takes over
and who
you sit
still next to
through the full
line of each blooming tree’s lie
vapid, constant, and inattentive
i pour water
in this place
and get ready
to lick
the curve of your face
| Tony Mancus |
|
levelheaded: when the snakes scattered: a rattling yes
On a first read, it’s a bit challenging to situate oneself in Tony Mancus’ “when the snakes scattered: a rattling yes,” but the more attention we give to this week’s poem, the better it gets. Examining the poet’s diction on a third and fourth read, we find a beautiful, complex metaphor arises from subtle wordplay.
Given the snakes on the loose we learned about from the poem’s title, when we read line one—“the colors died in your arm”—we can’t help but think that someone has suffered a venomous bite. While death may be imminent, the phrase “you were pulsed” a line later suggests that the bite may have actually infused some life in the poem’s “you,” whereby he or she is not only able to “feel,” but can “feel it / right about the temple // and in the bone-etch.” Here, the word “temple” alludes to the head—to the brain between the temples, to the consciousness and various emotional states that brain makes possible. And, in this case, the feeling from brain to bone is “right.”
Back in line one, the phrase “the colors died” grabs our attention further because of the homophone “dyed” that jumps out given its pairing with “colors.” Combine that read with “you were pulsed” a line later, and everything we’ve just reviewed reveals itself as just one of several ways to think about Mancus’ first few lines. Pulsed dye laser is a medical treatment for dermatological conditions ranging from spider veins to rosacea. Say a patient has a bunch of red lines on his arm, the pulsed dye laser will seemingly make those lines die. Snake-like lines scatter then disappear, an act that, we imagine, would be somewhat stirring (“rattling” say) but positive (“yes”).
As we can see from a close read of just the first five lines of this week’s poem, this bad boy is well made. Yet, perhaps the piece’s greatest strength is how organic it feels. Mancus posts no flashing neon signs to illuminate his cleverness. Several different narratives can be pieced together, but rather than story, it is language, and the emotion that language harbors, that drives the poem forward. A snake consuming its “fowl”=alleviating one of a skin condition perceived as “foul.” Ice “grin[s] into water” for a lip-stained patient happy to have the colors stretched even. The poem presents a poet who allows the sounds and meanings of words to guide him to the edge, as far as “each / rim’s reach.” In emptying all of himself (“i pour water / in this place”) the grotesque align with the yes as he “get[s] ready / to lick / the curve of your face.”
– The Editors
