
A
Review of Vivian Shipley's Hardboot (Louisiana
Literature Press, 2005)

No
matter how nimble with words and verse, no matter how
far traveled in life and imagination, Vivian Shipley
will always carry with her the rich and clinging heritage
of her childhood home and family in Kentucky. Poems
are permeated with the history of her Grandmother and
Grandfather Todd, her parents, her husband, and her
children. Thank goodness for lovers of poetry that same
Kentucky earthiness tracks itself like red clay into
the Manuscript Vault at the Yale University Elizabethan
Club, walks Water Street outside the Stonington home
of James Merrill, graces a barstool at Rudy’s in New
Haven and stands at the bedside of Leo Connellan at
Bachus Hospital, Norwich, Connecticut. Thank goodness,
because this latest collection of poems by Shipley,
prize winning poet and the author of eleven books of
poetry, is a delight and leaves few subjects, diverse
as Paula Hitler and the goddess Diana, unconsidered
in her extraordinary observations of both the cosmic
and mundane.
Shipley glides through a wide variety of roles: Victorian
Literature scholar from Vanderbilt, homecoming queen
of the University of Kentucky, divorced mother of rebellious children, loving daughter to ailing parents,
fisherwoman, gardener, cook and lover. Poems in
Hardboot have more of an edge, are a little harsher
than many of Shipley’s previous poems and often love
is seen as a trap rather than a sustaining, nurturing
emotion. In Unnatural, she chronicles the pain
of her husband, Ed: “Stepfather was the salt
he rubbed into your skin everyday. /He spit on your
face, you learned how unnatural this son, / love could
be.” In Loon, another poem about her sons, Shipley
reveals:
Both
of my boys have married
women
not a bit like me. I don’t know how to begin
being
a mother-in-law….
I
buy grave plots and ask my sons to come and see
how
they overlook the Branford marsh. They will not.
I
won’t risk uncovering their past I have buried in me.
On
the holidays when wives visit, knowing I will say
too
much, my mouth is a zipper I dare not open.
Shipley also offers insight into the mother who formed
her personality and caused her to strive, to achieve
to reach out in expression through her poetry. In Alice
Lee Todd through the Looking Glass, she writes about
her dying mother:
If
only my hand were
more
than a reflection, I’d reach out, try not to fail my mother
again:
the Kentucky Homecoming Queen who was not crowned,
stretching
for rhinestones, red roses, straining to hear my name
blaring
from stadium speakers so my mother in the stands would
hear,
would finally be proud….
Like helium that seeps from birthday
balloons,
words of praise my mother did not give me were not
in
her. Work suctioned out the joy. Showing that she cared
by
ironing my blouses, my mother didn’t have breath to waste
on
talk, and I couldn’t tell her that I needed her words
more
than
starched collars.
From
the poem With My Grandfather Todd the Summer
I Turned Sixteen, we learn the hard and simple wisdom
of farm life and of a grandfather’s desire to toughen
a girl for the outside world:
No way you knew to keep
them
from
being born, you took me to the creek
with
you to drown kittens where they’d wash
away,
making me watch, telling me not to give
life
to anything I couldn’t feed. Your lesson held
on
like moss through the years when I needed it.
If
memories of life and lessons from the farm are sharp
and poignant, they are also beautiful in their austerity
and vivid like the cover photo of the Shipley barn in
Howe County, Kentucky by Todd Jokl.
The fence is not any more restrictive than practical,
the rust on the barn, not neglect but the relentless
and inevitable march of time. Hurray that more than
struggle and adversity clung to Shipley from her Kentucky
roots. Self effacing in the Shakespearian Manuscript
vault of the Elizabethan Club at Yale University, preparing
to read to her audience, she says:
I want to hear the hillbilly
in
my voice, reclaim parcels of my life that I needed
to
keep tied. A real gosh darn it,
this afternoon I might say
a-sittin’
and a-rockin’ without
explaining that the use
of
the a prefix strictly before verbs ending in ing turns
out
to be consistent in mountain dialect. As I describe
That
ole woman stumbling up that there hill with a poke
and
a pig walkin’ right beside her,
my father saying let me
ride
behind you on that, meaning
save me the sure bet,
all
the members surely will circle me in the garden to hear
A
fur piece
No
ready mades
A
handed-down story
Young’un
Tomorry
at sunrise
In
Hardboot, Shipley’s subjects are ambitious and
she takes chances with controversial subjects, as in
the series of poems attributed to Paula Hitler where
Shipley asks us to look at the life of a person in extraordinary
circumstances, but still a person none-the-less, not
a footnote, not a cartoon celebrity. Hitler’s
sister asks: “Does forgiveness come, in the telling
of a story? If so, let me tell you mine.”
In
Father Gustaf, Giving Last Rites to Paula Hitler,
referring to her infamous brother Adolf, the priest
describes her headstone:
The
inscription will be: PAULA HITLER: 1896-1960.
Like
a poppy, your brother must have been the flower
of
a dark seed. Your memories are a tapeworm that
will
die with you, and you should not try to forgive what
should
never be forgiven.
Other
poems on subjects not drawn from Shipley’s own life
are peppered with humor and satire. The series,
Metamorphoses, retells mythological classics.
In Revising the Canon: A Stag Party, there is
a dramatic role reversal:
Actaeon moaned as the dogs snarled. Now, he
was
the one ripped open, pressed down, legs apart with no
escape.
One bitch stripped his flank; another tore at his head.
Some
thought Diana merciless; others praised her sentence.
In
Brueghel’s Icarus: An Old Husband’s Tale,
again sexual roles are reversed:
Daedalus
was not a man, Icarus no boy. That’s a myth.
Without
a husband to bind her, Daedalus turned nature
inside
out, taught her daughter to fly from earth: after all
men
couldn’t fence air.
No
where is Shipley’s sense of humor more feminist, tickling
and wonderfully tongue in cheek-ish, than in the series
of prose poems: Woman’s Guide to Salt Water Fishing.
To catch a sailfish, she advises, “Hold out for that
spear, tail and pecs. Here’s a final word of warning:
a sailfish can do strange things to otherwise normal
women once he is hooked.”About the barracuda,
she observes: “Of course, he’s a killer but so is every
other male that swims. A barracuda is only more efficient.”
In What To Do About Sharks, we learn how handle
sharks at poetry readings:
5.
If all else fails, sharks have a keen sense
of
hearing. Sing The Battle Hymn of the Republic
at
the top of your lungs. Sharks have short
attention
spans, get bored, leave if there is
no
open mike. So, swing into another verse:
Glory!
Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.
Infused with wit and honest to the core, poems in
Hardboot have a great range of style, tone and subjects.
Throughout the collection, she demonstrates that in
spite of having to leave her native state for Connecticut,
Shipley is still a hardboot, a name given to Kentuckians
on race tracks all over the country which implies toughness,
stubbornness and a certain thickness of hide. Like a
good pair of old workboots, hardboots can hold up to
whatever nature or life throws at them. In spite of
many poems that present adversity, Shipley’s poems lift
the spirit, teaching it to endure by sharing both joy
and pain.

*Tony
Fusco has a Masters Degree in Creative Writing from
Southern Connecticut State University. He is the 2005
editor The Connecticut River Review the journal of the
Connecticut Poetry Society, and Caduceus, the poetry
anthology of the Yale Medical Group Art Place. He has
been editor of the Southern News and the poetry anthologies
High Tide and Sounds and Waves of West Haven. His work
has or will soon appear in: the Connecticut Review,
Louisiana Literature, the Red Rock Review, The South
Carolina Review, The Paterson Review, Freshwater Review,
Folio, Elm, Long River Run, Twilight's Ending, Laurels,
Beanfeast, Vintage, Chiron, Lips and the Orphic Lute.
His book Jessie's Garden published by Negative Capability
Press in 2004 has been nominated for the Connecticut
Center for the Book's book award. His poetry has won
prizes in several contests including: The Sunken Garden
Poetry Prize, The Alan Ginsberg Poetry Contest, The
Eve Cummings Poetry Prize, The Leslie Leeds Contest,
The Southern Connecticut Graduate Poetry Contest. He
is a member of the Connecticut Poetry Society, the New
England Poetry Club and the Elm Writers group. He has
served on several panels, as contest judge and on workshops
at various writer's conferences. Tony produces West
Shore Poets a television poetry series at CTV, works
for the Yale Medical Group and lives in West Haven,
CT.

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