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Sept/Oct 2019 • Vol. XLI No. 5 |

Speak Low

Lowness as a state of emotion. Lowness as a quality of sound. Lowness as a status. Lowness as a literal geographical feature. Initially, I was interested in compiling a set of poems that investigated the condition of lowness; each time one poem tried to veer away, another poem reached up a tendril from the lowlands and dragged it back down. Of the work presented here, the first piece I encountered, chronologically, was Emily Spencer’s “I’m Not Interested,” a sharp and sinewy little poem of refusal. The poem begins with the image of gold circles; the attendant mention of “Third phalanges” might put you in mind of wedding rings. So, you might think the speaker is not interested in marriage. But then the ornate cathedral imagery that follows (“Bernini’s Baroque / Canopy in St. Peter’s / Gold / Circles”) directs you instead to consider the gilded roof of the structure, or maybe a circular frame around a bit of iconography, or maybe the trope of the gold nimbus hovering over the head of a figure of great significance. The disinterest, you might then think, is actually directed at the institution of religion. Or is it that the speaker is “not interested” in the pairing of the two, how the organization of private lives is ordered to fall under the jurisdiction of a theological superstructure?

All of the poems in this feature are directed, in some way, upward. Naoko Fujimoto’s destabilizing “Low Orbit” ponders freedom and confinement in the context of nationality and belonging, situating the figure of a “restless woman” alongside the image of the astronauts circling above us, taking their protracted and rarified shits in space. Jameson Fitzpatrick’s “Man with a Movie Camera” offers a sly and horrifying elision between a romantic partner and a film director: “The worst part / of the movie / is you cut me.” This lurking threat comes up, too, in Jennifer L. Knox’s bizarre and haunting “Finding a Drawer Full of Drivers’ Licenses” and Roy White’s quick-moving, deceptively nonchalant “Gawker Slowdown,” both of which engage with the omnipresence of violence against the vulnerable and the condition of being unsuspecting.

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Natalie Shapero is the author, most recently, of the poetry collection Popular Longing. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, The London Review of Books, The Paris Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Los Angeles and teaches writing at UC Irvine.

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