The Beat Was There: Craig Arnold

I have no complaints about the platter of poetry I've sampled at this reading. Craig Arnold, with his peppered method of reading and spicy delivery, takes us on a tasty ride through the realm of narrative poetry in his new book Made Flesh.

He starts with "Couples from Hell," at a point unseen as the middle, and seamlessly transforms the room into a gallery of oratory experience. Immediately I note his articulate use of alliteration and punctuated accent through the reading. As he progresses, I find myself being sent on a wave of sensory outbursts ending with bread, butter, coffee, and a deeper hunger for more.

And this is still his opening poem. The rest of the evening would electrify my senses into further dancing.

His poems exhibit well-placed changes in movement, colorful and contrasting. His poem "Mistral" sent me through the frantic reds of city life to peaceful greens of a calming Easter Monday. "A Place of First Permission" had me swinging to vibrant hues and party beats Arnold himself could only describe best: "The whole world is poured into the deep bowls of my hips." It was a point where Arnold's "jazz" hit me. The beat was there, thriving successfully in the air and on the page.

I can't stress enough the sensory candy I felt my brain exposed to. "Made Flesh" was a perfect example, calling (for me, at least) all five senses to the stage to play, mingle, and mold into a tasty web for my mind to eat up.

Arnold possesses a talent drenched in his mastery of the craft. For a fellow member of the Front Range, I'm proud!

by Rebecca Levin

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

Surprises in a Burgundy Tassel

Craig Arnold steps from stage left and jumps into the microphone, poetic images issuing from his mouth – no introduction necessary.  He stops and his oratory spell is broken into a full smile.  After iterating his gratitude for being back in Iowa City visiting Prairie Lights on February 27, Arnold jumps right back into his vocal groove reading a selection of poems from his new book Made Flesh. 

 His rhythm varies from staid, tapping his foot for emphasis, to frantic: words quickly falling out of his mouth with gestures punctuating his speech.  Nimble is the word that most comes to mind, while listening to him.  He speaks very quickly during some parts, but his annunciation never suffers, always making the sounds clear and precise.  Without taking into account the wonderful imagery conjured by his voice, listening to Arnold is enjoyable in itself.  The alliteration, assonance, consonance and rhyme make his performance a treat to the ear.  More than once, I found myself a little confused at what was actually happening in the poems, instead lost in the simple pleasure of its sound.  However, there were a few unmistakable images that really stuck with me.

One of my favorites was the scene where a young man tells a friend of his romantic feelings for her, only to be rebuffed with “don’t be silly”.  He sits and focuses only on a burgundy tassel that’s hanging on the table, the image that he will link with this moment forever.  Though part of a longer, more complex narrative, this scene stuck out to me so much because of its meticulous detail.  I was thrust into the intense feeling of the young man who has spilled his heart but is ignored, so he focuses on something outside himself rather than take a closer look at his present emotional turmoil.    

Following the reading, when asked why use poetry as the form to convey what could be prose, Arnold responded that he liked the groove in poetry which can be subtle or blatant.  He likes the rhythm to be irregular enough to surprise and delight, which exactly sums up the experience I had at his reading.    

                                                                                                                                        -  Shannon Green

"Exactly Full"

The upstairs room of Prairie Lights was nearly full on Friday, February 27th, when Craig Arnold stepped up to the podium. As soon as his mouth neared the microphone he jumped right into the reading, catching the listeners’ attention from the first page. Arnold had an urgency and intensity in his frame when reading his work, but when the piece was over he was relaxed and all smiles. He expressed his happiness to be invited back to Prairie Lights, and it seemed that he had established a small following of his work in the vicinity of Iowa City. He made a few comfortable jokes with the crowd, but didn’t keep them waiting for his next poem.

The poems from his book Made Flesh were full of sensory experiences- those of being “exactly full” or seeing that “students are turning to face you like sunflowers,” which evoked feelings of recognition, a kind of epiphany of familiarity with a new perspective. As he read his poetry, I knew the experiences he was describing, but the words he used framed them in a new way. The poems were also rich with consonance and assonance, making the aural experience alone pleasurable. The audience was silent, but with a look of deep interest holding their expressions. Arnold’s poems had a captivating rhythm driving them forward always, and simple yet powerful lines revealing life’s strange quirks: “…one thing is lost and it taught you nothing,” and the familiar yet disconcerting image of a man possessively “yoking” his arm around his wife’s neck to show she belongs to him, while she sits dejectedly, her makeup seeming too heavy, weighing her down.

After his last poem, the one which the book is titled after, the room had an air of quiet contemplation as the audience considered the experience of hearing Craig read his poetry. After a long pause, Craig joked, “Now we get to stare at each other awkwardly.” When he asked if anyone had a question, only one listener seemed to have the courage. “Why and how do you think poetic form liberates narrative from memory?” Arnold repeated the question and paused, giving it much consideration, and then said that with poetry, one can invent such details as to get the effect he or she wants to capture in the piece. He went on to say that one of the most enticing reasons for him to write in poetic form is because of “the groove,” or the rhythms of poetry and the resulting effect. He has experimented with many styles of meter and rhythm, to name a few; blues, jazz, and a meter in which every line has a different number of beats. When I spoke with him after the reading, he said that he usually works with the meter of his poetry from the beginning. He finds that he has an idea that sets the rhythm for the poem, then works with different lines and makes a sort of map in which he plays around with the order of lines.

Laura Jackson