by James Browning Kepple (pretend Genius press)
ISBN 978-0-9852133-2-9 review by Raewyn Alexander
The title put me in mind of someone on a train, travelling
through the state of Virginia and watching it flow by the
locomotive until that particular landscape was gone.
Intrigued, but mistaken, I read at first to find out why
this book was titled this way and also, because I've long
enjoyed the poetry of this inventive, original and startling
young writer. We've discussed writing and each others work
online for many years, as colleagues, and devotees of literature.
Kepple follows in the tradition of language poets, taking English
or really, American and making of it what he wishes. He reclaims
language as an individual, to the extent that some readers with
pedantic leanings may be shocked or horrified. This upset is
calculated and focussed for the most part, creating a kind of
blueprint for a new, more hopeful way of life, we could say.
Kepple's talent is also such that he persuades the reader to
keep on, entertainment ensues amongst other pleasures as
rich, engaging and varied as anyone could wish, even if
sometimes this collection is overwhelming or wildly odd.
The poetry is arranged into three parts. The poems mainly
flow on one from the other without the end of the page
being taken up with white space, after each piece. Where
white page space appears it adds to the meaning or tone
of the poem, rather than standing as a long-held and
rather extravagant convention of traditional formatting.
The introduction by Kim Goransson warns the reader this
collection could seem like too much at times. But I, for
the most part, delighted in how Kepple discards an overly
precious approach to poetry, and instead relishes the
chance to allow the appearance of the written word to
work in curious, revolutionary ways, while also paying
respect to language. Genuine humanity is evident in
this verse and a startlingly recognisable, flawed appearance,
without a trace of laziness or pretense. (Although laziness
and pretense do exist in fact, and these poems do make
that clear, with much else besides).
There were times however when I felt lost, disturbed
and horribly alone, then the writing drew me back to a
place of relative safety or at least, familiarity so I felt I
could continue in good heart. Drama and particularly
tragedy carries many verses well.
Word-play, once a reader realises it's there, is at times
truly hilarious, or rather thought-provoking and
undercuts many assumptions, with elan.
'I tell her I'm hungry
ask, or is that to caveman'
- from The Lost Art of Seduction
This maintains a double meaning, a sense of what the
line would mean with 'too' and continues a persuasive
thrust, which is quite possibly to get some food from
this girl, from her 'to caveman', also by the way cleverly
admitting his bluntness, and negating simplicity. Subtly
shocking syntax also destroying the idea that people
who cannot spell 'correctly' or use grammar 'properly'
are stupid, since he's using those 'errors' to be truly
clever, subtle and amusing.
Sometimes Kepple uses the word its to show something
belongs to something else more than it is, could ever
possibly explain.
'but its cold behind iron, and I need you to forge
for its trivial us in such assertions'
- from I just got out of jail baby
He does this with interchanging 'your' and you're' and also,
'then' and 'than' as well, along with other small, often
taken-for-granted words which are sprinkled about, a
garnish of diversion or a twist to cause reflection; a
swerve in meaning. But occasionally it seems the mis-spellings
are to show a kind of a person, a character, there is no subtle
word play I can figure.
'and I pass her up wishing I wasnt so cheap
I suppose its a matter of money these encounters,'
- from occidental street love
My first impression of the book, after galloping through
it reading the collection entirely in three days was,
it was sexy. Not that there is anything much erotic in
the words themselves to any large degree, even if some
intimacy is mentioned, but the maturity, strength and
intelligence inherent in this poetry, along with its wry
and also blatant humour impressed me so much. Other
saphiosexual readers could find this work affects them
the same way, intelligence can be so stirring.
An exhilarating sense of a real person fully engaged with
language and what it can do for them also emerges, a man
revealing himself and risking hurt, then also, Kepple reveals
so much while he obscures himself in some kind of camouflage
too. This poetry is a statement about the need to disguise
one's intelligence in these times, perhaps, but showing off
to those who 'get it', and also including them? There's some
camaraderie involved here.
TVP got to me. Every time I thought I could define it, the
writing slipped into another gear, or changed its tone and
diversionary tactics, or just enthralled me. A collection with
more to it than what appears at first. The alarming last section
certainly creates various brain storms and mind fevers.
My eyes wide with something close to terror by the end,
(which as it happens is not quite the finish at all, another
surprise appears even there).
Extreme states are going out of fashion in art, we could say,
except for extreme price tags on fine art or what we could
call cheek, (in American they say, sass).We are told in
everyday life, in countless often banal ways to calm down
and carry on, to contemplate the intellectual rather than
indulge the emotional, and to divide ourselves into easily
recognisable groups for familiarity and comfort. This all
subtly done through the way art is presented as an elite
practise, and in its contemporary content being cynically
clear or ironically observed, often expensive and for only
the highly educated, and therefore quite exclusionary.
Some mystery permissible as long as it is so sophisticated
it has to be accepted as true, without explanations dared
to be asked for. Thus Virginia Passes as a collection does
pay some respect to that mindset, it has wisdom and is of
this time, (despite some curiously old-fashioned turns of
phrase), while the writing also determines we need more
than coralling or discipline, more than a society of knowing
winks and nods, more than brutality dressed in the finest
manner to make it seem acceptable. We need to feel deeply
and explore our existence fearlessly in order to truly, best
live and learn, much of Kepple's writing appears to show
this, convincingly.
The poetry is not as distancing and obtuse as some other
recent verse by more traditional or less risky poets, it does
not pretend it's from somewhere unattainable for most
people. Although so idiosyncratic at times it does appear
unfathomable on first reading in places, I later decided it
was like a wild animal sporting and celebrating itself,
beautifully, for its own sake, in places which suit the
particular topic or tone.
I found Kepple eskewing 'the' was often annoying or
unnecessary, although this telegramesque, truncated
language suits the break-neck pace of some of his work.
This device does eventually appear as his genuine voice
too, but sometimes the omission distracts from some
beautiful, unexpected line which follows.
'a troubled troubador
lashed about
on train seat
she can walk
like fallen
plastic on my
feet'
- from train poem #43
Possibly however, that's one of his points, beauty exists
obscured by the furious speed we seem to think we are
going, time poor and distracted.
Kepple's writing sweeps along with grand gestures and
surprising, momentous images too, often illustrating
contemporary issues along with time-tested, vital
concerns. The symbolism in some poetry could take a
reader many readings and some research to understand,
while on the surface there's a definite narrative thread
as well, satisfying to an extent.
'We need incensed sacrifice and summonings to protect us
For the earth has grown weary of our consumptive material
identity,
It is past time that its fruits spiritual will go stolen unnoticed,'
- from A Prelude to Ophiuchus
Differently sized type-faces, some tricky word placements,
three sections called in order of appearance - Book I:
Thus Virginia Passes, Book II: Harlem Blues, Book III: Herald,
(the most experimental verse), and no page numbers,
we're reminded throughout that this is not any usual
book of poetry. That even if it does echo some other
writers' allusions and literary times past, in some regard.
The unexpected in a tailor-made, avant-garde suit, if I had
to explain Thus Virginia Passes in an image. Daring,
considered, gloriously individual and with many twists,
turns and puzzles, this first major collection by
James Browning Kepple is recommended. I must admire
his bravery, quite apart from his obvious talent and labour.
We need more writers prepared to register publicly who
they really are along with a plea for privacy and respect,
while at the same time saying something else entirely.
Then we remember what matters and grow inspired to
stretch ourselves to trust in our own experience and
intelligence, our own feelings.
Words carefully chosen in the best order, indeed.
and building fires, do not
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