The Reviewer Listens to a Poet Contemplate the Third Person

At 6:59 p.m., Prairie Lights is already brimming full with hopeful poetry lovers, sullen required attendees, and everything in between. Why ever they came, they certainly did come on Thursday night to see Jill Bialosky read from her newest collection of poems, Intruder. They sat cross-legged in the aisles and stood at the back, peering over shoulders. Many of them carried notebooks—possibly for personal use, but more likely to record some proof that they attended. Many classes at the university require that students attend poetry readings, and as a result the audience reeked a little of assignment. It is not all the time that an odd crowd takes over the personality of a performer, but I confess I worried a little how Jill Bialosky would handle us.

The answer was gently. She approached us calmly and gave us near constant smiles and eye contact that she maintained for the entire hour. It was a little reminiscent of a nice aunt or family friend. To introduce her work, she softly described her writing process and the way it lead her to dealing with identity: the “I” in poetry, she said, could be the poet or a character, that is, autobiographical or simply universal. To investigate, she found herself with the construction of “a poet” rather than an “I” in her work. In fact, the personal pronoun does not seem to appear in Intruder at all. Instead, Bialosky uses “she” as the poet and the character, with titles like “The Dream Life of the Poet” or “The Poet Contemplates Her Calling.” The concept seemed intriguing and worth exploring, but it read a little like The Poet Trying to Tackle a Theme Halfway. Instead of breaking down voices and exploring the difference between the “I” voice and the character voice, she simply merged them into “the Poet,” a character that is based on the “I.”

The most memorable poem seemed to be “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts.” The on-class-assignment students, who up until this point had been scribbling (or at least doodling) in their notebooks, sat up and listened to this one. Here, “the poet” discovers erotic Chinese poetry that she describes as “cruel.” Bialosky read, in her soft-spoken way, about how the “epic masterpiece…wanted to devour its reader with desire…They’d been drinking…days of unwrapping long beautiful robes…cut her with a knife.” A girl in the front row had been lulled to sleep (which I could understand, given Bialosky’s gentle, melodic voice) but her head snapped to attention here. Silence followed this. “Strange poem,” she murmured.

It was odd that she characterized these erotic Chinese poems as featuring “blood and darkness” but still having “gentleness in tone.” This is exactly the way I would characterize Bialosky’s poetry. Despite being “devoured,” drinking, and being “cut…with a knife,” there were also “long beautiful robes” and “epic masterpieces,” not to mention the sweet little voice that read it.


Despite her efforts to interact with her audience with warmth, eye contact, and more introduction than was even necessary, the audience sat in almost audible silence during the question portion of the reading. They either were so in awe that they could think of nothing to say, or they simply felt awkward. Either way, Bialosky quietly wrapped up the reading, notebooks were closed, and the audience went home.

Was she, as Booklist suggested, a creator of “stormy poems of love, disruption and resignation?” Perhaps not. Did I fully understand her takeover of identity as “the poet?” Definitely not. But were the poems aesthetically pretty and gentle enough to be enjoyable? Perhaps so. As a whole, Intruder left me feeling as ambiguous as her third person narration.


Reviewer: Nora Heaton