I Want It Dripping / John Spiegel Reviews Katy Bohinc's Scorpio

Scorpio is Katy Bohinc’s third book of poetry, her most “elemental and personal” work. Perhaps this explains the abundant use of the first person within the poems, especially towards the beginning of the book. The first person speaker is constantly giving minor revelations throughout the poems, whether it’s her relationship with art and writing itself––

“Every time I think

maybe I’m done with this

a wave comes

 

hooded

I look, and write it down” (6)

––or more personal, emotional matters:

“It was 2008

And I loved again” (10),

 

“Did you think it was all right

to deconstruct my heart? (11).

 

“Just another kid

fell in stupid love” (32).

But the key word and issue here is “minor.” Yes, these are insights regarding human reactions to this world, the curses of humanity. More so, these poems tend to look through the lens of the “I” at the world, not the self. In an interview with The Adroit Journal, Bohinc commented, “Current contemporary poetry, and contemporary American culture, are very interested in “the I” via social media, the memoir trend, and maybe just generally pop culture.” Her comment might explain the looking outward we experience through these poems as well as the universality of these emotional moments. We all know the “emptiness of hyper-modernity” that this world brings (8). We know the pain of heartbreak:

“you and me

and the crimes, the crimes, the

tears in the lockbox, fears

in the soft spot, the hard swallow

of fate, the surrender or hate” (12).

Maybe personal poetry isn’t about inherently personal revelations, though. Maybe it’s just an insight into how we all feel the same things, how we all got there differently. If all roads lead to the same destination, what’s interesting is the road itself. And that’s when I was most engaged in the book, when it lent itself to the everyday rather than asking larger, more abstract questions. “40 is the new 30,” for example, is a poem that begins in a tight, focused, truly intimate place and gradually opens up over time.

Now, when first reading through this text, I wasn’t struck by the vulnerability or openness of these poems. Not to say that this isn’t the “most personal” Bohinc’s work has ever been, just that it’s not the most personal poetry out there. It might be that the language is less emotionally revealing than it is overtly sexual:

“And when we think

what cums in me

is this

 

Monogamy is like marxism

exists best on paper” (6).

 

“I want it dripping because fucking you

dry, I’d rather be in my cubicle.

It’s out of fashion to be fetal and weep

but I still believe we’re worth it” (11).

Bohinc also describes the darker, more violent side of sex in the poem “Rape,” a gut-wrenching, visceral, hard-to-read poem about violence, sexual assault, and the emotions those crimes invoke in others.

Our sexuality is generally more private, more intimate. But aside from taking place behind closed doors or involving a partner, is there any reason for the sexual to be more unique to an individual than their emotions? Sexuality can be a label, an identity, while our emotional responses rarely define us and thus are often unshared. None of this is necessarily new for Bohinc. Her poetry has tended to flirt with the sexual in the past. But what I’m trying to say is that on its face, Bohinc’s explicit language might appear personal, but it feels as if it’s missing something –– some ineffable, intangible quality that helps draw me in to connect to the poems, invite me to dig around and see what’s there.

Not that the text wasn’t rich in detail or imagery or even some beautiful sonic moments, but honestly, what struck me most the first time reading the book wasn’t so much the poetry as its presentation. The book’s layout and font was captivating. Miami University Press works with book designer Jeff Clark, who creates custom fonts, layouts, and cover designs. Scorpio’s font, “various weights and styles of Futura,” is simply unique amongst all the recent poetry I’ve been reading. A small detail, sure, but one that immediately caught my eye.

Bohinc frequently plays with the sound of the words. In the same interview, Buhnic describes poems as “little songs,” and this comes across so clearly –– perhaps the most notable part of this collection is the sonic texture of the language. Everywhere, music sings through the words.

“marbles piling slowly in a can

sideways, neverways, always, somedays,

whatever ways the lonely stork carries baybays

so she whispered in your ear, so it was once clear” (36).

And when the text doesn’t rely on rhymes as a device, it is referencing the poetic devices directly, calling rhyme “the direct derivative of / dying brain cells / and desire” (6) or describing exploding vectors as “the impasse of rhyme” (41). If nothing else, these poems are self-aware.

Self-awareness is an admirable trait in poetry –– all art, really. Consequently, the poems I found myself most attracted to all riff on this concept. “Blinking Cursor Kinda Day” and “Cilia Genius” are both structured quite uniquely: Rather than using line breaks or stanza breaks, the poems use slashes to indicate breaks while the line continues onward. It forces the reader to visualize the line rather than feel it while also drawing attention to its own awareness of the poetic line and its use. It’s all so surreal and challenges my assumptions of the poetic line in the best and, frankly, funniest way. I found myself laughing as I read these poems, not because the content is inherently humorous, but because I was so amused at what reading them did to me.

“Just so cool to / “dunno.” We need some new finger-tippers. / Noam is quite ill. / The moss is abroad, lichen up the money. So what’s new? / Need a view. Hipster died, didn’t say goodbye. New York / is killing me” (30).

Occasionally, though, the poem does break away from its contemplations and serious topics for some more light-hearted musings. Along the same lines, smack dab in the middle of the book is my favorite piece, “Towels in America,” a narrative heavy poem about having guests over and hand towels and lavender scented detergent.

“Moment when the

Houseguest asks

Too gingerly for

Towels

And it’s annoying

Or they don’t

Ask for towels

And it’s annoying” (38).

It’s goofy, it’s lyrical, it’s punchy. It’s the absolute best that Scorpio has to offer.