Munyori Reviews
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Among Summer Pines by Quinton Duval, Rattlesnake Press, 19pp $5.00
ISBN 978-0-9815339-4-0
Reviewed by Emmanuel Sigauke
As a tea connoisseur, I start with “Morning Tea”, the last poem in the collection. Its transformative
message triggers memories of many years of tea consumption, but the poem, which is not just about
tea, transports the reader on a journey into the poet’s imagination, and “we are [now] heading
toward somewhere / with a view”, a “little town” that could be anywhere on earth. That’s the
power of Quinton Duval’s poetry: one tiny detail will lead to great artistic heights as we remember
with the persona, predict the future, ponder about departed friends, and imagine our own departures,
always aware of the poet’s and our passion for life.
The persona in “Man Driving” is taking us on a drive down a road he likes, “a real road”, tree-lined
and with stretches of farmland on either side. The driving is peaceful as the man savors the view of
“alfalfa new-mown/or rows of sugar beets/safflower massed together.” The reader experiences this
drive, hoping it will last forever to see the other bursts of life the driver will see, but there is an end
to everything; even this road has a limit, “a place / where it will turn away.” Either that, or soon dusk
will set in, and the view will dim. As we go through life, whether we observe every detail around us
or not, time progresses. But these details can be revealing even for “this wide-open / unsteady,
driving man.” The little we glean in the simple act of observing confirms how much we don’t know,
yet opens that curiosity which makes poems like “Man Driving” possible. This collection speaks to
Duval’s facility with language and his sharp imagination: “I, professore, drink my coffee / Or sweet
wine, copy it all down / In my worn-out book of psalms”. The readers are invited to “live a simple
life among summer pines” where the thick syrup of life culminates from the simplest details. In these
well-crafted gems, no word is wasted and each image contributes to the deep layers of meaning.
The richness of life or its emptiness even, is celebrated through a musicality of language no readers
can ignore.
“Old Friend” reminds us that we experience the progression of time in different ways. The persona
remembers a past shared with an old friend, “those long, slow days when we lay / in the bottom of
the boat and the sky / was a boat-shaped blue.” The poet reminds us that this drifting through time
never ceases. Apart, the friends are “still adrift, still marking / the minutes’ progress.” There is a
strong awareness of the cyclical nature of time’s progression, that even after time separates us,
there is a strong possibility of meeting again: “watch for a boat on the horizon”. This is a strong
message which can be applied to possible reunions in the afterlife, with boats signifying passages
from one life form to another.
The poems in this collection are rich with references to time, the past and the future and the wealth
of experiences that they have to offer. Listening to Duval's persona, we are challenged to "listen for
the chug / of the engines in the fog", to look at photographs with captions like "Me--2002" and savor
that chunk of time arrested by the stillness of photograph, but, as "Man Driving" has already shown
us, time sends it message through its progression, whether we grasp the details or not.
The richness of the language and the detail of images in these poems are what the reader keeps
looking for in Duval's poetry.It's poetry that sends you out to be among the summer pines to "live a
simple life" and observe "the syrup of the day thicken", to see whatever detail of life is out there.
ISBN 978-0-9815339-4-0
Reviewed by Emmanuel Sigauke
As a tea connoisseur, I start with “Morning Tea”, the last poem in the collection. Its transformative
message triggers memories of many years of tea consumption, but the poem, which is not just about
tea, transports the reader on a journey into the poet’s imagination, and “we are [now] heading
toward somewhere / with a view”, a “little town” that could be anywhere on earth. That’s the
power of Quinton Duval’s poetry: one tiny detail will lead to great artistic heights as we remember
with the persona, predict the future, ponder about departed friends, and imagine our own departures,
always aware of the poet’s and our passion for life.
The persona in “Man Driving” is taking us on a drive down a road he likes, “a real road”, tree-lined
and with stretches of farmland on either side. The driving is peaceful as the man savors the view of
“alfalfa new-mown/or rows of sugar beets/safflower massed together.” The reader experiences this
drive, hoping it will last forever to see the other bursts of life the driver will see, but there is an end
to everything; even this road has a limit, “a place / where it will turn away.” Either that, or soon dusk
will set in, and the view will dim. As we go through life, whether we observe every detail around us
or not, time progresses. But these details can be revealing even for “this wide-open / unsteady,
driving man.” The little we glean in the simple act of observing confirms how much we don’t know,
yet opens that curiosity which makes poems like “Man Driving” possible. This collection speaks to
Duval’s facility with language and his sharp imagination: “I, professore, drink my coffee / Or sweet
wine, copy it all down / In my worn-out book of psalms”. The readers are invited to “live a simple
life among summer pines” where the thick syrup of life culminates from the simplest details. In these
well-crafted gems, no word is wasted and each image contributes to the deep layers of meaning.
The richness of life or its emptiness even, is celebrated through a musicality of language no readers
can ignore.
“Old Friend” reminds us that we experience the progression of time in different ways. The persona
remembers a past shared with an old friend, “those long, slow days when we lay / in the bottom of
the boat and the sky / was a boat-shaped blue.” The poet reminds us that this drifting through time
never ceases. Apart, the friends are “still adrift, still marking / the minutes’ progress.” There is a
strong awareness of the cyclical nature of time’s progression, that even after time separates us,
there is a strong possibility of meeting again: “watch for a boat on the horizon”. This is a strong
message which can be applied to possible reunions in the afterlife, with boats signifying passages
from one life form to another.
The poems in this collection are rich with references to time, the past and the future and the wealth
of experiences that they have to offer. Listening to Duval's persona, we are challenged to "listen for
the chug / of the engines in the fog", to look at photographs with captions like "Me--2002" and savor
that chunk of time arrested by the stillness of photograph, but, as "Man Driving" has already shown
us, time sends it message through its progression, whether we grasp the details or not.
The richness of the language and the detail of images in these poems are what the reader keeps
looking for in Duval's poetry.It's poetry that sends you out to be among the summer pines to "live a
simple life" and observe "the syrup of the day thicken", to see whatever detail of life is out there.
Publishers and authors, send books for review
to the following address:
Emmanuel Sigauke
English Department
8401 Center Parkway
Sacramento, CA 95823
to the following address:
Emmanuel Sigauke
English Department
8401 Center Parkway
Sacramento, CA 95823
String Theory by Alice L. Teeter, winner of the 2008 Charles B. Dickson Memorial Chapbook Award.
Georgia Poetry Society (2008). Reviewed by Emmanuel Sigauke
Drawn by the title, I looked for the poems referring to strings first, and I found two, the title poem
and another entitled "Heart String Theory." The title poem is about our interconnectedness, our
existence as part of the universal continuum, the network of galaxies that individuate yet connect
us, this life with its amazing and dazzling hereness. The poem addresses each one of us to
contribute a line of verse, to celebrate what there is of life because when we were born, "the
universe began", and when we die, "time will end." We are unique, yet in our uniqueness we are
connected by strings (perhaps the essence of our humanity) in these "fields of play":
And we are always alone encompassing everything
Always tied with strings, always connected
...Strings tossed to me, I send strings out
To you, from you, to her, to him, from mom, to dad
To sister, from brother, to aunt, uncle, cousin, lover
In "Heart String Theory" our hearts register and "vibrate" to the sounds of voices. The poem
speaks to out ability to feel, and feeling is a response to the tug from the outside world. What gets
tugged is the essential string that connects or branches us. This explains why the physicists in
"Everlasting Chocolate Cake Haiku" share a cake, where "each takes one half with each bite" and
the "cake lasts forever." In "The woman Who Ate Anger", we are told, in allegorical and fairy-tale
fashion, of a woman who consumes the worries of this world until she grows too fat to be
functional. Then one day she decides to stop eating this anger, exposes the ugliness of it all to the
world that watches until it loses interest and she gains her ultimate independence: no more worries,
no more eating anger, no more growing fat.
In line with the string concept, we are treated to two more "heart" pieces. The speaker of "Sacred
Heart" addresses the reader directly, warning against confusing surface purities with the dangers
underneath: "Do not try to walk here" because if you do "you will find that it is white hot." So
maybe in our string theory, we must throw or receive the string with caution. In "Pagoda Heart"
Teeter uses powerful imagery as she compares a heart to an oriental temple. The speaker's
clattered heart needs to be cleaned until its like this temple. If having a big heart means dealing with
much clatter, the persona would rather have a one-roomed heart like a pagoda.
Alice Teeter's collection entertains as it teaches. In it there is singing, there is dancing to freedom,
dancing to the bondage of the self. Our experiences are part of the numerous fields of play that
represent the universes we occupy. We are each our own universe, existing in our vast galaxy. The
serious message in the poems is presented through fresh imagery and playful lines. After all, the
twang of strings produces music, and music is play.
This is a highly readable, crisp, clever, and daring chapbook.