In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • Rapt, and: In Praise of Proprioception, and: Grotesques
  • Eleanor Berry (bio)

The middle-aged poet'snew young wifemoves with artlessgrace, as oblivious to her owndelicate, exotic beautyas a rare wildflower. All weekat the writers' conference, heflaunts her as if she werehis latest collection. Now, [End Page 105] across the table at the banquet,she draws me with radiantdark eyes, gaze focusedintensely on me, holds mewith impeccable English, perfectlyseasoned by a pungentSlavic accent. She tells mefervently of her smallcountry's literature, its claimto world attention. Rapt, I see her—brilliant, vulnerable—as my fathermust have seen eachof the three young women, allslender and tall, from three differentfar countries, whom hefell for in turn, this pastdecade, his eighties. Only I,he must have told himselfeach time, know howto value her adequately. Only Ican protect her enough.

In Praise of Proprioception

proprio- from Lat. proprius, one's own; -ception as in perception

The body's ownperception of itself,its contours and extentwithin the space around it:

Body's unconscious thought,automatic calculation, [End Page 106] guiding it around and throughwhat rises before it,

showing its handthe way to its mouth,allowing the stride,the luxuriant stretch—

body's self-sense, lettingone stand beside another,hair's breadth between them,not touching, then touching—

when that sixth sense goes,spinal cord's sheathing frayed,we stagger, flail,fall as if drunk.

Grotesques

Flying cross-country, I peerout the cabin windowsix miles down at the skinof the planet,its roughness smoothedby that depth of air, butits swelling, pitting, splittingvisible still at this distance.

From that porthole view of Earthas a relief map of itself, my gazeswings to my hands, erupted from barely [End Page 107] brushing poison ivy, pocked like the topof a pancake ready to flip, like the crustof Earth, upheaved in peaks and ridges.

Above me, on three screens, spacedthe length of the aisle, The Fantastic Fourpass through an interplanetary stormof special effects, emerge transformed—the bald one's skin now fissured stone,the woman's body turningat tense moments to invisible vapor,her suitor's arms and legsflowing in streams, the last ablazefrom his own heat—as ifin each, a single oneof the four classical elementshad been distilledfrom the otherwise indissolublemix of all. The quartetof astronauts annealedinto earth, air, water, and fire:four superheroes, four grotesques.

Flight attendants bringing coffeeand packaged snacks, recoilat the sight of my hands, blistered skinoozing and scabbing. Transformedby the touch of a leaf, I, too,have become a grotesque. And Earth,however tranquil it appearsbeneath the plane, is spawnof the violence of stars, its elementsfused in their fierce heats, its corestill molten, eruptive, its crustcracked, Titans' spherical puzzle of colliding,rebounding pieces, tirelessly transforming itself. [End Page 108]

Eleanor Berry

Eleanor Berry has poems in recent issues of Crab Orchard Review, Dogwood, Hawai'i Pacific Review, and Nimrod, and one in the anthology Breathe: 101 Contemporary Odes (C & R Press). A collection, Green November, was recently published by Traprock Books.

...

pdf

Share