i want as i have always wanted

goodness, it’s been a while.

the next couple of posts are in examination of poems by g.c. waldrep – a writer i have to say i was very skeptical of initially. he, however, is truly the sort of poet that grows on you. it’s a challenge not to be fascinated by what he puts to a page once one is committed to unearthing what on earth he is talking about.

that said, it is worth mentioning that waldrep studied for his mfa at the university of iowa and his ph.d at duke. currently the assistant professor of english and professor of creative writing at bucknell university, he also directs the bucknell seminar for younger poets and serves as editor-at-large for the kenyon review (a publication that has featured some of his work in the past).

“battery o’rorke” is one of nine “battery” poems in waldrep’s book disclamor. they concentrate on his experience of searching though a string of military setups just outside of san francisco, decommissioned just after the second world war (with the exception of two). the batteries are included in the golden gate national recreation area – the concept of the armed forces having left behind structures on beaches as parks is an interesting concern of waldrep’s that he wrestles with throughout the book.

in terms of “battery o’rorke,” specifically, however:
the poem itself is broken down into four unequal sections, separated by a small, charming sort of symbol (i think it looks like a flower). the form of a poem, as we have discussed in class, has a tremendous amount to do with how a reader interprets the words – in many ways, the way a poet chooses to space his or her language plays as important a role as the actual words they’ve chosen to use. waldrep in particular utilizes space to depict a walking motion, just as he ambled from beach to concrete military embankment. other battery poems include selections of graffiti that he observed on the walls – waldrep has a tendency to list what he sees as he observes it, solidifying the idea that the reader is perhaps walking beside him. “battery o’rorke,” however, follows a pattern of using less concrete examples and more expansive thought process; he wonders as he wanders. this choice of style, in fact, is employed to support the overall statement that waldrep makes in the last section of the poem: “The beach ignores the power of words / as words ignore the power of things.” this is a very broad concept to wrap one’s mind around – if one is to glance just slightly before this statement, however, it is also clear that waldrep is uncertain of his own role in life’s grand scheme. he hypothesizes, “I want as I have always wanted. / I think I must be a very minor poet, / to want so---).”

this poem creates a parallel between the poet and the battery – the poet, if he is to stand motionless in an abandoned military operation, is just as useless as the concrete itself; deserted, cold, covered in graffiti. however, if change occurs then progress is made and usefulness is restored; therefore, if waldrep keeps moving (as the footsteps of his poems do) and allows for himself to contemplate and ask questions and wonder --- then the writing is not forsaken. we may carry with us everything we have ever learned, and we may know certain truths to be unchanging, but there is always room for growth. though certain things about a person may never change in the same sense that God never changes – “I carry the bones of the pedagogue / in ivory brackets, / my hand is steady, / I mix consecration / with consecration,” time can always carry us forward.

waldrep’s three full-length collections of poetry are as follows: goldbeater's skin (2003), disclamor (2007), and archicembalo (2009). his newest collection of poetry, entitled your father on the train of ghosts, is due this month (written in collaboration with john gallaher).