Book 9781800174337 Paperback

Scattered Snows, to the North by Carl Phillips is a collection filled with an autumn sensation, even if the poems themselves are set elsewhen, with images of loss and dusk, snow of course, passing of time and love, deterioration of memory, mortality, and yes, actual autumn. The poems often depict the natural world, trees are a constant presence, but also water and weather. As present as the outer world is, though, it’s the inner world that remains the focus throughout.How you like your poetry will determine your response here. If you like musicality, you might be out of luck, as Phillips doesn’t really call attention to the sound quality of the language, as least not very often. Now and then you get lines like “And as usual, early summer seems already to hold, inside it/the split fruit of late fall, those afternoons whose/diminished music we’ll soon enough”, with the long “u” sound running through “usual-fruit-whose-music-soon.” But those moments are relatively rare (to be clear, that is subtle musicality more often, just not the “hits you clearly” type of assonance, consonance, rhyme).Similarly, those who like their poem’s meanings to be overtly laid out or nearly tied up in a clear epiphany at the end might be a bit disappointed. I don’t want to say the poems are opaque, because I don’t think they are, and I know that description would scare lots of casual poetry readers (my category) off. So not opaque but say more “open to multiple readings”. Or just “open” in that the poems often don’t close themselves down at the end. I confess I Sometimes wanted to feel a bit more on solid ground, but generally I enjoyed the openness of these pieces.I also enjoyed that autumnal tone throughout, the “diminished music” from the lines above, the “dead under-branches of the trees”, the “mind done with signaling, letting its watch fires, one by one/go out, the renegade glamour of late fall.” There’s both a sharp impact in the lines themselves but also a cumulative effect as such images/concept pile one atop the other.Generally, I found myself responding more strongly to particular lines or passages rather than to poems as a whole (though there are some standouts), but those are the moments, startled by language or juxtaposition or metaphor or where lines bounce off but then land again and linger for a long while, that I come to poetry for, so that’s not a big criticism from me. Before closing with a few examples of those passages, I’ll just say that I strongly recommend this collection, as well as his compilation, which I read recently as well, and which offers up just what you want—a lot more Phillips.Some favorite moments:“Whatever the reasons are for the dead/under-branches of the trees that flourish here, that the dead persist/is enough for me, it’s enough.”“Maybe what a river loves most/about the banks that hold it — that appear to hold it —/is their willingness or resignation to being/mere context for the river’s progress … the way rivers tend to, stands as proof that reliability doesn’t’' have to mean steadfast.”“I almost believe in the self that’s just/an imitation of a self I want others to believe in enough for me eventually/to believe it too”“Why not call it lover —/each gesture — if it does love’s work?”“for omens/also need sleep; indeed, the best ones can sleep for years, uninterrupted”“that familiarity/that, because it sometimes/includes loves, can/become confused with it,/though they remain/different animals”