Writing toward resolution, and grace

A death too soon is always a tragedy. A death too soon in the family changes the family forever. And what if that death too soon is a suicide?

The suicide of an older brother is one the primary themes of Michael Dickmann’s Flies, a collection of spare, sparse, concisely worded poems that create the ravaging of one’s memory and soul in the face of a brother’s death. The poems become a narrative means of resolution, and one means Dickmann employs to do that is the language and imagery of faith and religion. 

In the very first poem, “Dead Brother Superhero,” he evokes both a typical childhood memory – playing a superhero – and the need for salvation:

You don’t have to be
afraid

anymore

His super-outfit is made from handfuls of oil and garbage blood and
        pinned together by stars

Flying
around the room
like a

mosquito

Drinking all the blood
or whatever we
have

to save us
who

need to be saved.

The poems move forward – and there’s a definite motion forward, toward some yet undefined moment or goal or idea – until reaching a series of 14 poems entitled “Stations,” a poetic rendering of the Stations of the Cross. It is in this series that a kind of confrontation happens, for the poems combine the sacred and profane, anger with hope, frustration with resistance with surrender. Consider the fifth poem in the series:

What does the little cross want with us anyway?

To grind us into diamonds

To make us dance

To tear our arms off and throw them out into the yard like sticks

I need help carrying these sticks

The diamonds

Dancing

The little cross hunches in the corner and stares and drools
        coughing up white petals

It never takes its hundred eyes off us

When we feint to the left the little cross feints to the left

To the right to the right

When we call to our mothers

The little cross answers.

Dickmann moves ultimately to resolution, and achieves grace, the grace of coming home and achieving peace with one’s own soul. Yes, a death too soon changes everything, but survivors can work their way home.

Flies is a remarkable collection of poetry. It won the James Laughlin Award of the Academy of American Poets, which is given to support and commend a poet’s second book. (His first collection, The End of the West, was published in 2009.) He and his twin brother Matthew (also a poet) were interviewed by the New Yorker; the abstract is here (you have to be a subscriber to access the entire article). His poem “Returning to Church” was selected by Narrative Magazine for the 2008 Narrative Prize, and it is a beautiful work. 

Related: Michael Dickmann reads "Flies," the title poem in the collection.

Comments

[Louise]

Thank you Glynn for bringing Dickman and his book to my attention. I had a brother who died and while it was believed it was a double suicide (he and his wife died in the same crash) the police couldn't prove it. The only way to come to acceptance was to acknowledge whether 'he did' or didn't, Love was the only thing he could leave behind. And it all began with forgiveness.

I shall definitely be acquiring a copy of Flies.

Thanks.

[Maureen E. Doallas]

I haven't yet read my copy of Dickman's book, though I have skimmed it. He is a poet who came to achieve recognition and fame early on. You do well by him here.

[Mama Zen]

I was really struck by the brutal honesty of his words. Thank you for the introduction.

[Thomas Turner]

Great post! I just checked both of his books out of the library.

[Jeanne Damoff]

Thank you for sharing this, Glynn. I'm deeply moved.