Elaine Fowler Palencia
2004 Passager Poet

Where to Go From Here?

In the dying garden
fat brown grandmothers
tat lace from stalk to stalk,
spread handkerchiefs in the yew hedge.
A wind of wood smoke and manure
fills the lungs like chocolate.
This morning winter left a threat
written on parchment
and they kicked our son
out of his group home
for violence born of fear.
Out with his luggage, his blanket,
his Batman poster and smelly bear,
went his future and ours.
I can hear my bones cracking
and I think those grandmothers
want to steal my eyes.

An Interview with 2004 Passager Poet Elaine Fowler Palenica—excerpts

What made you write poems about your son?
I tried to write about Andrew in fiction and essays, but the result was either too sentimental or too angry. I was angry at the entire universe for what he had to endure, living with a mind and body that wouldn't do what he wanted. And yet his life is complex and fascinating. I could never capture the rich essence of what it is like to live with him and I was frustrated by how poorly most people understood him. For many, he was only a damaged body. So I tried poetry out of desperation. Happily, the metaphorical language of poetry was what I needed. I had to find a way to describe the unknown in terms of the known—which is what metaphor does. I was also frustrated because Andrew’s mental disabilities kept him understanding much about his situation and that of our family. It was quite a while before I noticed how many of the poems were addressed to him. Clearly, he was the one with whom I most wanted to discuss our situation. Through poetry I could tell him what I wanted him to know, even though he would never be able to read it. Finally, these poems—and there are two published chapbooks of them so far—are my letter to the world. In 1991, I started writing them abruptly, literally from one day to the next.

Has writing about Andrew affected the way you see poetry?
Writing about Andrew clarified for me the uses of poetry. I learned that what poetry should aim to do is express the inexpressible, in words that can’t be paraphrased. I learned that in order to connect with readers in a meaningful way, poetry should rise above the level of its own details, towards a larger vision. Poetry is a lot more important than I thought, and can be a force for change. For example, my Andrew poems have been used as texts in university classes in rehabilitation counseling and in community health, as tolls to study the psychology of disabilities as it relates to families. In “Asphodel, That Greeny Flower,” William Carlos Williams says, “It is difficult/ to get the news from poems/ yet men die miserably every day/ for lack/ of what is found there.” That’s how serious poetry has become to me, when once it was merely a pleasure to read, or an intellectual puzzle.

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