Review: When I Grow Up I Want To Be A List of Further Possibilities by Chen Chen
Chen Chen is concerned with identity. The moments of life from which it emerges fill his poems, in all their intimate and mundane domesticity as much as their poignant riots. The act itself though, is what’s truly of concern. Identifying. Identification. The tensions and resolution of words and reality, meaning and saying, the gulf between the two and the complex geography of being that contextualizes the truth of either.
It is the pure stuff of poetry. An essential piece in the rudiments of the artform. The practice of capturing in language the infinitely murky and startling brief intersections of time and space. As Ezra Pound once waxed “The function of poetry is to debunk by lucidity.” Chen’s premiere collection is nothing if not a search for this lucidity.
In this search he takes the reader through a tour of events, many repeated across multiple poems throughout the book, illustrating the act of remembering in it’s multiplicitous and rhetorical glory. He paints in personal details shaded with introspection and cross-reference, drawing ambitious connections between far-flung corporeal aspects of living and the existential exercises of becoming, and all with a flair and wit for language that advances in seamless pieces a clever and energetic mission to find the right words, to compose the right words into images and patterns capable of surpassing the illusions of truth towards a deeper and more meaningful reality.
A nest of memories build and degrade in a poem like “First Light”, revealing self-doubts, suspect intuitions, and the cursory experience of living within what becomes a collage of glimpses past.
Chen writes:
“What is it, to remember nothing, of what one loved?
To have forgotten the faces one first kissed?
They ask if I remember them, the aunts, the uncles,
& I say Yes it’s coming back, I say, Of course.”Of course, it is not, and it can’t.
The search reinforces that fact. The repetitious “I say” adding rhythm to the line, but also anxious ownership of the reaching statement “Of course.” Chen’s language is like this, clear and powerfully situated throughout, often understated but also flush with sudden sparks.
In “Kafka’s Axe and Michael’s Vest” Chen opens with the following line:
“Still winter. Snowing, still. Can it even be called action, this patience
in the form of gravity overdressed in gray?”
The stalled moment colliding with the reflection, falling back onto the facts of nature, setting the stage for a poem that becomes a meditation upon silence and speaking. An at once innate human trait, and most distinct and divisive piece of culture, language, becomes situated within the act of realizing time through the movements of nature which otherwise disregard the concept.
How does human existence work within this framework of realizing and defining through recognition of separation, how can this process ever live up to reality? These are the questions I find underlying the quick and thoughtfully composed poetry Chen reveals. His insight and observations; the images he draws of life, are poignant, fresh, and engaging. His language is bright, and appropriately swings between the ebbs of life. Above all else though, his work is a genuine and necessary search for the certain truths of life that can only be found in poetry.
Read the title poem here