POET REVIEWED:
Vicki Hudspith on Maggie Dubris

 


Weep Not, My Wanton: Stories & Poems

Black Sparrow Press, 2002 Approximately 250 pages
1-57423-180-4 (paper edition)—$17.00
1-57423-181-2 (cloth trade edition)—$30.00
1-57423-182-0 (signed cloth edition)—$40.00


'Oh! There is an eagle; dirty, tattered by the wind
And a wheel spinning
spinning:
spinning across the land.'
              from Toilers of the Sea
              First Part: Sieur Clubin
              Book 3: Durand and Debuchette
              XIII. Thoughtlessness Adds a Grace to Beauty

As you may have just noticed, Maggie Dubris is one of the best lyrical poets writing today. After you read Weep Not My Wanton, this will not surprise you. What will catch you off guard is how someone can write like that and be grounded in the gritty urban reality of working as an EMS medic in Times Square, New York, which she does. Her lyrical line reminds one of say the urban landscapes painted by Marjorie Portnow or Rackstraw Downes. Nothing is left out or hidden but the voice doing the describing is not an ordinary voice. Or as the title of one of her short stories says; You Can't Spell Mess without E-M-S.

Maggie Dubris writes in a world of parallel universes. She might give you a line like;

'Out one window was a video store where an old man died in the booth fucking a blowup doll...'
                   WEEP NOT, MY WANTON
                   The Dream Book

But she might just as likely send you reeling into a private reverie with lines like;

'...They rocked on the porch, the three of them
Listening to the corn grow. The stalks
Rustled, like a living thing. A yellow ocean
Crawling up the shore.

The men were mostly pool sharks.
It was up to the women to save them.'

First Part: Sieur Clubin
Book 5: The Revolver
VIII. A "Cannon" of the Red Ball and the Black

These are lines to live in, learn from, dream with. In an era of flat footed description passing itself off as poetry, Maggie Dubris has resuscitated the lyrical poetic form.

In WillieWorld, which comprises the middle section of the book she takes us along with her in the ambulance and shows us;

'... The alcoholics with their basins, waking up one night to fill it not with wine, but with thick red blood that keeps coming up. I could never figure out why they all own these blue plastic basins. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing that a person would go out and buy.'
                                        —Welcome To WillieWorld

But as she travels through this world, we learn about her too;

'We drift against the edges of childhood.
Small windows open and close.
One day, we become old.'
                                        —Welcome To WillieWorld

Or she tells us;

'On the hottest nights, the radio plays. And you
turn and you look out the streaked windowpane.
I will love you in hell. I will see only you.'
                                        —Welcome To WillieWorld

She concludes;

'That sound like the rattle of a snake.
It might be God. But it might not be.
It might be the Devil. If you believe in such things.
The Garden of Eden, angels who fall to earth.
I used to believe in a lot of things. but I don't now.
Now I drive an ambulance in the holiest city on earth.'
                                        —Pennies, pennies, in a fountain
                                        How many pennies make a mountain?

The poems and the interspersed prose sections of WillieWorld breathe together to reveal insights in layers and the reader is rewarded by reading sections multiple times.

She shares amusing information with us in some of the short stories. One example is how a poet can earn a living as a janitor in a massage parlor or as an ambulance driver, but unlike someone preaching, she parts the curtain and lets us see for ourselves;

              '...the winos plastered themselves against the wall but refused to move their swollen feet.
              "Hey baby, you're supposed to sweep first," one of them said. I continued along my appointed path.
              "You're supposed to sweep, then wet mop, then dry mop, didn't your mother teach you 'bout mopping?"
              I glared at him.
              "You don't take advice from a man, you never going to learn. You never going to be no crackerjack mopper. Nobody wants a janitor can't mop."
              I walked to the top of the stairs and poured the water out, winos leaping as it cascaded a brown waterfall to the landing where is slowly soaked away.
              "I'm done," I said to the asshole. "When do I get paid?"
                                        What's New Pussycat?

There is an echo of the Irish folklorist in her work especially in the masterful long poem, which comprises the third section of the book, entitled Toilers Of The Sea. Ms. Dubris has an ironic sense of humor that keeps us and we suspect, her, going. As the Irish say, "God loves someone who tries," and Maggie Dubris keeps trying.

While tragedy is constant in her work as a medic in Times Square, the metaphysical queries she poses as an artist, give us hope, consoles us that life goes on if we stop judging it long enough to take it in.

The title of the book, which is also the title of the first section, occurs twice in her 70-page epic poem, Toilers Of The Sea. It appears toward the end of book one, section one, almost as a warning;

'Weep not my wanton
One night, as you sleep
You'll be thrown overboard
To be drowned in the deep'
             
Second Part, Book 1:
              Section XI. The Discovery

and in the second section almost in resignation as the same quatrain is followed by the lines;

'I never cry
For what's gone, I never weep.
For every tear I shed
Just wets the winding sheet.'

              —Second Part, Book 1:
              Section XII. The Interior of an Edifice under the Sea

While she may not weep, she does something equally powerful by memorializing the infirm and forgotten patients whose lives she has added some measure of comfort to. And because the author is compassionate without being sentimental, we hold her truths close to our heads and hearts.

'A man, I see he is faithless. I see
A heart, sailing, like a kite into the sun.'
                            —Book 2: Mess. Lethierry
                            II. A Certain Predilection

It must be said that while the poem, Toilers Of The Sea, does not attempt to mirror the book by Victor Hugo, from which it draws its title and section titles, there are parallels to Hugo's hero Gilliat who endures against the sea with no one to rely on but himself. There is a remarkable ingenuity at work here, and it is clear that the protagonist in the poem must rely on herself. To highlight this, the poem shifts from turn of the century third person to a modern day autobiographical first person account of the author¹s family and thoughts.

There are two compelling lists which appear in each era. In the first historical section are two lists of birds which became extinct before the heroine was born and those which became extinct during her lifetime. In the second section we are invited to consider the men who vanished before the author was born and the men who vanished or died on the street during her lifetime. The first list of men were inventors, musicians, and minor historical characters but the second list are men, some of whom appear in short stories earlier in the book, that the author has seen vanish from the streets during her career as a medic, most of whom ended up buried in Potter's Field. By writing about them she has memorialized them in print. Never far away is the relief of the lyrical voice transforming these sad tales;

'I bought a chance
On an ambulance
And I won, and I drove it
Into a clear blue street of sky.'
                            —Book 3: The Struggle
                            VII: The Appeal Is Heard

She incorporates other narrative material from the short stories of driving an ambulance;

'Sometimes I think I am a city, ancient and winding
Grown out from the heart.
A man calls from a window, a woman lies on dirty tile,
The blood between
Her legs. A box of roses, open on the sidewalk,
The pop-pop of a bullet, horses circling
And the crowd roars, a wave of tough boys, parting
As the ambulance nudges through.'
                            —Book 3: The Struggle
                            VII: The Appeal Is Heard

Finally, the poem ends with a description of The Great Tomb, a self styled time capsule of Maggie Dubris which concludes that she will be happiest when her remains are;

'Cavorting through a tunnel in the belly of a
Kangaroo rat!'
'Nothing but bones left now!'....

When I have actually turned back into dust, there will
Be a fine celebration...

'Now she is back in the world
Where she belongs!'
                            —Third Part
                            Book 3: The Departure of Cashmere
                            V. The Great Tomb

Luckily for us, Maggie Dubris is still very much in this world and she brings the poet's vision and voice to it. Anyone sitting down with this book will gladly follow her journey. You can trust her to get the story right.

'... Perched, here, on the murky shores of the past.
Yearning for all that is lost.
I shall now say what I loved.'
                            Book 3: The Struggle
                            VII: The Appeal Is Heard

Weep Not My Wanton is divided into three sections. The first, from which
the book takes its title, consists of 8 short stories of approximately 84
pages. The second, Willie World (which won the Richard Margolis Award as a
manuscript in 1994 and was subsequently published by Richard Hell¹s Cuz
editions in 1999) consists of six sections of three alternating prose
segments and three poems. The third section, Toilers Of The Sea, takes it
name from Victor Hugo¹s lesser known novel of the same title, written while
he was in political exile on the Isle of Guernsey in 1855. This section,
comprises 70 pages and is itself divided into three sections.
This is a book to buy and keep and refer to whenever you need
inspiration.

Vicki Hudspith
summer, 2002

 


Vicki Hudspith is the author of White and Nervous (Bench Press Editions, 1982) and Limousine Dreams, with drawings by the painter James DeWoody (1986). She is President of the Board of Directors of The Poetry Project in New York City, and has directed plays by John Ashbery and James Schuyler for Eye and Ear Theater. With Madeleine Keller she co-edited KNOCK-KNOCK A Funny Anthology by Serious Writers with 100 writers and 10 visual artists represented. Her work has appeared in the Crown Publishers anthology, Out Of This World, edited by Anne Waldman, with foreword by Allen Ginsberg, as well as numerous small press magazines. In 1976-1978 she edited The Poetry Project Newsletter, conducting a nationwide interview series with writers and artists. She has written criticism for Exquisite Corpse, Cover and The Poetry Project Newsletter. Her spoken word CD, "Urban Voodoo," on which she is accompanied by percussionist Daniel Freedman, was expanded and re-released in the spring. Her latest manuscript, Within The Hour, will be released by NYCBigCityLit in September.

 

 

Copyright © 2002 by Vicki Hudspith.

Material may not be reprinted without prior written permission.

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