Vigilant Sensitivity: Craig Arnold

Arriving unfashionably late to Prairie Lights on a Friday night, I find the audience already hushed in the presence of a thin, bald gesticulator in front of the podium. Craig Arnold, a University of Wyoming professor, reads from his new book of poetry, titled Made Flesh.
Unfortunately for you, dear reader, you happen to have inherited a reviewer frequently prone to bouts of thoughtlessness and spatial drifting when exacting topical observation seems necessary. Typically at poetry readings, I lose focus and then, at the outset of every new poem, I redouble my determination to pay strict attention to the subject matter of the poem, but inevitably find myself ruminating upon tangents in the middle, losing all credibility as a reviewer in the process.

However, for the sake of this review, such pretext is irrelevant as Craig Arnold sufficiently snagged my full, relatively undivided attention from the outset of his reading (or at least my outset which begins around the second poem). His reading style was a constantly varied one, not confined to a simple mechanical intensity or an overflowing spontaneity, but rather a blend of forceful, lithe enthusiasm and a softer contemplation. At times, Arnold snatched the listener from the beginning of his poems, jaunting quickly over narrative images and circumstances only to slow down as he delves deeper and deeper into the implications of each circumstance. For example, in one poem, “a glass is offered,” to which Arnold demands “Look, Take it before it falls,” emphasizing the words “look” and “take” with a polite urgency rather than an angry demand that at once draws the reader’s interest (why should I look? why should I take it?). Pay attention to the images because they unfailingly relate to a specific feeling, often juxtaposing an unlike image with an unlike feeling, or focusing on a seemingly innocuous image, like a glass being offered, or a woman in a kitchen and developing a deeper meaning around it.

There is a vigilant sensitivity at the heart of Arnold’s poetry, despite much of the erotic, dynamic imagery and diction he uses. Even though he moves quickly in many of his poems, he does not often swallow syllables and savors each word, giving his poems this fragile quality, as each word matters, but only briefly; he’s moving on. The meter he used in his poems did not seem to readily fall into a discernible, received form, though the natural rhythm was undeniable, emphasized by his gestures, which were often unique at specific points. In one poem, he says “If you’re not using your body right now maybe you’d let me borrow it for a while,” and I thought that rang a true description of the reading, him moving and speaking to the audience, silent and still. To me, this lent a very personal aspect to the reading because one got to see the visceral reaction the poet emitted at these points. I felt as though I was let into the world where Arnold had constructed and clearly reveled in his poems. A bit like being a houseguest to a new homeowner who hurriedly shows me all details of the new home with pride.

Several days after the reading, I bought Arnold’s new work, Made Flesh, and though I think it is an excellent volume, I feel as though his reading of the work certainly added something immeasurable to it, and I can still hear his voice in my head, rising and quickening, only to fall and slow contemplatively over the length of the poems.

Sean Ehni