Ten for Faheem by Adam Falkner (Penmanship Books, March 2012)
Review by ZOELLE EGNER, Book Review/Web Editor
Adam Falkner is a high school teacher with a deep love for popular culture, particularly music. As such, he is preoccupied by the potentially negative implications contemporary culture holds for the students he teaches. That concern manifests itself in a consideration of what he identifies as thematic absences in cultural discourse: the failure of popular artists in all media to address serious issues faced by members of contemporary society. The task of Ten for Faheem, forthcoming from Penmanship Books, is to question these absences and the effects they have, on both the youth he teaches and on the poet himself. It’s a surprisingly academic endeavor for a collection of poetry. Fortunately for us, Falkner’s analysis comes couched in the most artful of ways. He carefully maintains a balance and intimacy in the work, digging for answers in complex, deeply human moments. True, there are moments where we find ourselves slightly disconcerted, standing outside the poem, all too aware of our intellectual distance. “Look at this,” he seems to say, “isn’t it fascinating?”
But this is the joy of Falkner’s work: he observes the world around him and invites us to do the same. Better, he knows precisely what he’s doing. He is a thoughtful, deliberate poet, who puts great care into language choices. Confidence oozes from the text, even exposes raw and vulnerable subject matter, or shines a knowing light on the seemingly mundane. We see that, in Falkner’s eyes, any moment holds the potential for great revelation. In order to properly examine the world that surrounds him, Falkner carefully reassembles it on the page, with linguistic and narrative set pieces arranged within the poem to represent all the most important elements of a scene. We are presented with all the sensory data necessary to construct a complete, evocative image, along with the back-story required to give it emotional depth.
At times, he packs so much detail into these short poems that the words become almost structural in their density. It can be overwhelming, but the effect is intentional: every time he approaches the point of overflow, Falkner stops short. Having constructed what amounts to a linguistic diorama, he pauses, climbs inside the moment and does… nothing. It’s as if, having found the “absence” at the heart of a situation, he must first draw attention to its existence, and then ponder the paralysis it induces. There is a stillness at the heart of these poems, where we watch Falkner think. He fantasizes at length, and eloquently, about what he might like to do or say in different situations, even as we all know that ultimately, none will come to pass. (“I am inches from calling in a bomb threat by payphone, / starting a rumor about a flu outbreak, / UFO landing atop the school, any twisted miracle / more believable this.” October 14 (PSAT Day) [32-35]) It is enough, at least for now, to acknowledge the want.
I linger on these particular poems out of respect for both their artful method of creating space for critical reflection on culture and the effect their inclusion has on the experience of reading the poems in the final section of the book. The work is loosely organized into four sections, with poems clumped roughly by theme. Although a few poems at the beginning of the collection show some action on the part of their subjects, they are, at their hearts, recollections of the past and as such, serve as points of departure for significant contemplation. As the poems transition into the first person, the richness of detail remains, but the motion on the part of the speaker more or less ceases. These are the diorama poems, the still heart of the manuscript, where the real contemplation occurs.
At the end, Falkner has left a reward for his readers. After so much thinking, the still life finally twitches into motion. Starting with “The Woman I Love Put a Shotgun In My Mouth” and continuing to the end, we see the speaker act. This explosion of sheer movement,desperate and sorrowful, provides precisely the catharsis for which we’ve hoped. This isn’t to say that Falkner doesn’t find the same absences in these moments, or leave the speaker struggling, as always, to give voice to that which seems impossible to say; the questions raised would hardly be worthy of his attention if they were so easily addressed. But we see the struggle break free of the confines of contemplation to find a place in the speaker’s fundamental movement through the world and interactions with others. Yes, Falkner reminds us, there is danger here, as there is danger in any human engagement. But the danger is only heightened by contemplation in a vacuum of that which carries weight with those around us. The paralysis will not last forever, however confusing the questions that cause it. Someday, that which is bottled or ignored will burst. Better a conversation to preempt the breaking. Better to try. This collection of poems is, above all else, a definitive step in that direction.
Adam Falkner is a high school teacher with a deep love for popular culture, particularly music. As such, he is preoccupied by the potentially negative implications contemporary culture holds for the students he teaches. That concern manifests itself in a consideration of what he identifies as thematic absences in cultural discourse: the failure of popular artists in all media to address serious issues faced by members of contemporary society. The task of Ten for Faheem, forthcoming from Penmanship Books, is to question these absences and the effects they have, on both the youth he teaches and on the poet himself. It’s a surprisingly academic endeavor for a collection of poetry. Fortunately for us, Falkner’s analysis comes couched in the most artful of ways. He carefully maintains a balance and intimacy in the work, digging for answers in complex, deeply human moments. True, there are moments where we find ourselves slightly disconcerted, standing outside the poem, all too aware of our intellectual distance. “Look at this,” he seems to say, “isn’t it fascinating?”
But this is the joy of Falkner’s work: he observes the world around him and invites us to do the same. Better, he knows precisely what he’s doing. He is a thoughtful, deliberate poet, who puts great care into language choices. Confidence oozes from the text, even exposes raw and vulnerable subject matter, or shines a knowing light on the seemingly mundane. We see that, in Falkner’s eyes, any moment holds the potential for great revelation. In order to properly examine the world that surrounds him, Falkner carefully reassembles it on the page, with linguistic and narrative set pieces arranged within the poem to represent all the most important elements of a scene. We are presented with all the sensory data necessary to construct a complete, evocative image, along with the back-story required to give it emotional depth.
At times, he packs so much detail into these short poems that the words become almost structural in their density. It can be overwhelming, but the effect is intentional: every time he approaches the point of overflow, Falkner stops short. Having constructed what amounts to a linguistic diorama, he pauses, climbs inside the moment and does… nothing. It’s as if, having found the “absence” at the heart of a situation, he must first draw attention to its existence, and then ponder the paralysis it induces. There is a stillness at the heart of these poems, where we watch Falkner think. He fantasizes at length, and eloquently, about what he might like to do or say in different situations, even as we all know that ultimately, none will come to pass. (“I am inches from calling in a bomb threat by payphone, / starting a rumor about a flu outbreak, / UFO landing atop the school, any twisted miracle / more believable this.” October 14 (PSAT Day) [32-35]) It is enough, at least for now, to acknowledge the want.
I linger on these particular poems out of respect for both their artful method of creating space for critical reflection on culture and the effect their inclusion has on the experience of reading the poems in the final section of the book. The work is loosely organized into four sections, with poems clumped roughly by theme. Although a few poems at the beginning of the collection show some action on the part of their subjects, they are, at their hearts, recollections of the past and as such, serve as points of departure for significant contemplation. As the poems transition into the first person, the richness of detail remains, but the motion on the part of the speaker more or less ceases. These are the diorama poems, the still heart of the manuscript, where the real contemplation occurs.
At the end, Falkner has left a reward for his readers. After so much thinking, the still life finally twitches into motion. Starting with “The Woman I Love Put a Shotgun In My Mouth” and continuing to the end, we see the speaker act. This explosion of sheer movement,desperate and sorrowful, provides precisely the catharsis for which we’ve hoped. This isn’t to say that Falkner doesn’t find the same absences in these moments, or leave the speaker struggling, as always, to give voice to that which seems impossible to say; the questions raised would hardly be worthy of his attention if they were so easily addressed. But we see the struggle break free of the confines of contemplation to find a place in the speaker’s fundamental movement through the world and interactions with others. Yes, Falkner reminds us, there is danger here, as there is danger in any human engagement. But the danger is only heightened by contemplation in a vacuum of that which carries weight with those around us. The paralysis will not last forever, however confusing the questions that cause it. Someday, that which is bottled or ignored will burst. Better a conversation to preempt the breaking. Better to try. This collection of poems is, above all else, a definitive step in that direction.