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The Pedestal Magazine -</i>Barbara F. Lefcowitz's <i>Photo, Bomb, Red Chair</i>...reviewed by Laurel Johnson
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Barbara F. Lefcowitz's Photo, Bomb, Red Chair...reviewed by Laurel Johnson |
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Barbara F. Lefcowitz
Photo, Bomb, Red Chair
Fithian Press
ISBN Number: 1-56474-431-0
Reviewer: Laurel Johnson
In her eighth collection of poetry, Barbara Lefcowitz plumbs a lifetime of memories and imaginings as if they were priceless ancient ruins. She gently probes the hidden folds of her brain in each poem, extracting treasure. Covering every subject imaginable--from death to mud baths, research to warring, the erotic to the mundane--her words and structures tease and tantalize the emotions.
The introductory poem, a dedication to her newest grandchild, "Avanika" sets the tone:
for you, an April child, bright foil
to this century's dark & troubled spring...
From there she proceeds to remarkable visions of life's renewal and abundance, as in "Dark Olives":
who could take in such abundance
in a single lifetime, avoid crushing the missed chances
now scattered on the ground--
And "The Lady in Mauve" allowed a brief glimpse of how the author sees herself and her world:
Bittersweet as incense, solid as a church,
stubborn as fireweed rising from the ashes.
Thoughts on death and sadness are simply stated with a dignified eloquence. For example, in "The Badge," she'd have spared Schumann "a death without music." And in "The Guest," sadness "lands in the hollow to the right of my heart." With an empathetic hindsight, Ms. Lefcowitz gently reshuffles the past. For example, in "Forever Vicino Mare" she considers:
trading poems for the
chance music of bells...
And in "Speculations" she relives a stark memory of 9/11:
a woman and man joining hands
leaping from the tower together…
Partners only for this one defiant dance--
She speaks of the everyday in ways that make a reader pause and think. Rain becomes the color of our middle-aged galaxy. Florida oranges symbolize life and loss. And pears transform themselves to metaphors, as in one of my favorites, "Pear Caprice," where pears--and maybe promises--never evolve to their highest potential:
like the girls who early on flaunt
their breasts and curvaceous figures
but drop out of school, marry too early,
end up as those tough aging waitresses
in roadside diners, the ones who
show up all winter, no nonsense women
who serve well enough
until replaced by sweet young cherries...
The pure essence of being female through the ages and that impact on the poet can be found in "Women of the Waters."
And they'll wave politely when I return to the present
never suspecting I need them more
than they could possibly ever need me.
Armed with a smile and double-edged sword, she battles middle age in "Ophelia in Middle Age."
No longer willowy
I must do pilates and yoga
so my aging heart will not
send me to that watery grave
I once sought when I was
the very model
of a neurasthenic young woman
my body prey to onslaughts
of lovesickness fevers...
Barbara Lefcowitz gives her readers parameters, examples with which to face each transition from youth to golden years. From the fervent pulsing of desire in "Hot Rocks," she delicately segues to a hopeful swan song in "Phase Transitions":
I'm solidifying.
My liquid days less fluent each year,
their loosely patterned molecular dance
slowing to a sarabande, a solemn march...
Whether writing in free form or a prose poem, Ms. Lefcowitz preserves herself with spirit and heart intact. Her "Song Album" was whimsical and imaginative. In particular, I relished "Song of the Hidden," its haunting refrain:
...so I sing to the
Polish women who secretly
sheltered Jews, to the mother
who wraps her only shawl
around her infant, her own body
warmed by shrouds of snow;
those who hide paintings and books
from the fires of the crazed.
She just as easily conjures "Villanelles in Prose," as in "Towels, Soap, Cubicles," and "My Brain, The Black Thing, My Grandmother's Tzimmes." And I was delighted by her treatment of ekphrasis--poetry born from viewing art and photographs--in "Liebestod," "Walker Evans: Three Photographs," "Brueghel's Land of Cockaine," and "Artemis Ephesia." Ekphrasis can be a difficult exercise, but it's one this poet handles with insightful results.
If the content of Photo, Bomb, Red Chair is indicative of her craft, Ms. Lefcowitz has been the recipient of numerous prizes and awards for good reason. Novice and aficionado alike can appreciate the messages this poet shares because her words clearly communicate what her eyes and mind absorb. Each poem is plump fruit, hand-harvested from the experiences of this wordsmith's life.
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