Open Slowly by Dayle Furlong

When I'm in the mood to read poetry, I generally stick with my old favorites: Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Sylvia Plath. I'm always looking for a good collection of contemporary poetry, but I'm picky. I don't want a book of greeting-card rhymes, nor do I want the poems to be so complex that it's impossible to extract any meaning.

Open Slowly by Canadian poet Dayle Furlong (published by Tightrope Books) exceeded my expectations and earned a place on the shelf displaying my worn Dickinson anthology.

Open Slowly is divided into three sections. The first, Impossible Permanence, features many poems about youth and many images of nature. What I like best about Open Slowly is that the poems offer a narrative, and Furlong's imagery is vivid.

In "Bite the Wind," Furlong shows a little girl questioning man's destruction of nature:

She's quick for a seven-year-old, notions of revenge taut:

'If you cut trees for paper,' she says,

'Paper will get you back and cut your fingers.'

Got it all figured out, passive paper: sly, full of cunning slits

siphoning into gentle skin. (page 14)

I love the imagery in "The Ceremony":

First trickles, innocent fat flakes,

arrive like the unpinned strands of a winter bride's hair

flirtatious coils wrapping themselves around branches

slyly. (page 26)

The second section, Tonic & Brevity, appears to have more sensual, harsh, and dark images. Here are my favorite lines of the poem bearing the same name, and there is a sort of beauty to them:

I'd wear pretty dresses

and meet men from big cities

but you, my rural troubadour,

are the one in the end--the one who

loves me softly. (page 37)

The harshness is evident in "You Were Here," which opens with:

Leaves, giant tongues

veins plump--forked lightning bolts (page 39)

Here is another example of Furlong's ability to pull you into the poem and visualize it. In "Two Graces," she writes:

There are moments when the older woman's confidence

flattens against her skull

like wet tissue

deodorant stains like dry onion skins cling

to the mid-section of her blouse:

she wears hurry and fear on her waist. (page 51)

The darkest poem in the collection is "Say Uncle," in which a girl is sexually abused by her uncle.

He made many messes with her on mattresses

and was sent to prison where he lay

night after night on a single bed

--stiff as a backbone. (page 49)

The final section of the book, Litany of Desire, is about just that: desire and love. In "Wood & Nails," Furlong writes:

On your salary we'll never have a large house

you tell me you'll build me one

with your own hands and you

squeeze my thighs and hover over me, an arched

roof. (page 65)

Here's an even better example from my favorite poem in Open Slowly, "Litany of Desire":

you will enjoy me as

blessed and savage

as I tumble head first into you

you'll teach me how to use an ellipsis

so that nothing is left out

or unsaid between us-- (page 68)

I've never been any good at intellectually dissecting poetry. I can't discuss rhythm, form, or meter; I just know what I like when I hear it. I love to read poetry aloud, and in Open Slowly, the words are simple, sensual, and beautiful. I have no idea what Furlong's inspiration was for these poems or what she wanted readers to take from her words, but I had no problem coming up with my own interpretation. Open Slowly is contemporary poetry at its finest, accessible to the average reader while still providing much to ponder.

Disclosure:  I received a free copy of Open Slowly from Tightrope Books for review purposes.