Refrigerator Manuscripts

Jill Bialosky returned to Iowa City for the first time since graduating from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in 1983 on February 26^th, 2009. I found this ironic as I had never before been to a poetry reading and here I was showing up at my first one with notebook in hand observing a writer making her first appearance to Iowa City since before I was born. I was skeptical at first to post a review of Jill Bialosky given the nature of my first attendance so I attended a few other readings in the past weeks, such as translations read at the Sanctuary and Zach Savich at Prairie Lights to see what was out there, only to discover that Jill Bialosky was my favorite poet out of the poets I saw.

For my first time experiencing Live From Prairie Lights I was taken aback at the size of the audience. I had a friend save me a seat in the front row and I was thankful when I started to notice people standing in the back without seats. The audience descended into a dead silence as Jill was introduced. Not too long after being introduced she began speaking and was interrupted by a cell phone ringing in the first row (not mine thankfully). Jill politely stopped talking and allowed the woman to silence her phone before moving on and describing her process of writing and how it affected her ordinary life as “a mother and an editor being in the world”. Jill provided some more background information of her writing style, such as her use of “She the poet” vs. using “I” in order to reach a different consciousness, before reading from her new book of poetry Intruder.

Jill tells us the intruder is part muse, other, and imagined other challenging the levels of selfhood and reality we inhabit. This detailed introduction leading into her first poem had me leaning forward closer to the poet as she spoke, even though I was already in the front row. The first words from the first poem began with “blank canvas” and I could not imagine a more appropriate attention-getter to suck me in for the rest of the night. Jill then read a few sections of a ten section poem entitled “The Skiers” which she called her own version of Paradise Lost. The first section began with “Snow, lone wilderness…” and ended with “high on the crescent” with the final section she read ending “for one moment the world is calm”, which I found translating into my personal experience that night in attendance.

I was really riveted when Jill began telling us the occasion for the next poem she would be reading came from a library of forgotten Chinese manuscripts. Given my interest in Chinese literature and our class discussions of occasional poetry I knew I was in for a treat as Jill says she wanted to “blend the old and the new” with these erotic Chinese poems. The poem was not the greatest of the night, but I couldn’t stop listening with her direct references to Taoism, as I found myself referencing myself throughout her poems as she was reading.

Jill read a few more poems before reading from her novel The Life Room. She presented the themes of desire and responsibility, authentic and narcissus. My favorite lines were “I write because I can’t” and “Loneliness is inevitable, it’s a force of nature.” Then suddenly, the reading was over.

Although Jill Bialosky came off as very quiet and perhaps nervous and she ended her reading somewhat abruptly, I nonetheless appreciate all the advice she gave to the writers in the audience. She advised us against looking too closely, for one can get lost. She shared with us her enjoyment from moving between two genres. And by sharing with the audience that she kept her manuscripts in the refrigerator, I left Prairie Lights with the sense that Jill Bialosky has found a harmonious balance as “a mother and an editor being in the world”.

--Josh Elwer

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

"The Intruder"

The first word that comes to mind in describing Jill Bialosky’s poetry reading is “quiet”. The second is “awkward”. Neither of these is the hallmark of a great poet. On Thursday, February 26th, Bialosky read poems from her recently-published volume, “Intruder”. According to Bialosky, her poetry examines the nature of love; she also pointed out that she was examining poetry writing from different perspectives. Personally, I couldn’t tell one poem from the next in terms of perspective; with names like “The Poet Contemplates Her Role”, “The Dream Life of the Poet”, and “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts” (quite a mouthful, that one), I don’t know who Bialosky thinks she’s fooling, but it sure wasn't me.

In “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts”, Bialosky tells the story of a female poet of roughly her age (which I’m sure was a real stretch) reading Chinese erotic manuscripts that, as the poem describes it, “wanted to devour the reader with desire”, whatever that means. Bialosky’s inspiration? An experience she had when reading exactly those Chinese manuscripts at the Smithsonian. How creative.

Bialosky’s interactions with the audience were sparse; she spoke only to preface her poems (often ruining their plot twists in doing so), to talk about herself and the experiences that led her to write certain poems, and to read her poems. Bialosky didn’t really relate with her audience, aside from factually pointing out that she had, indeed, attended the University of Iowa, before returning to talking about her poetry and all the wonderful things she’s written.

Her poetry was a little less than impressive; several times, Bialosky mispronounced words, the clear hallmark of someone using a thesaurus. Her unimaginative “exploration” of relatively everyday things (like books, skiing, and nature) was less than insightful and certainly not original, and because of this her reading was less than ideal.

By: Mike Sowell