‘Talking in the Dark’ speaks eloquently of rural Maine

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TALKING IN THE DARK, by Wesley McNair, Publisher, David R. Godine, Jaffrey, N.H., 1998, paperback, 70 pages, $13.95.

In the course of producing five remarkable collections of poetry over the past 20 or so years, Wesley McNair has established himself as a first-rank American poet. He has won major poetry prizes, been the recipient of a fistful of prestigious grants — National Endowment for the Arts, Rockefeller, Guggenheim, etc. — and is widely published in magazines and anthologies. He has even scripted a PBS series on Robert Frost.

Underscoring the scope of McNair’s fame might thwart the regionalist label he could be tagged with by the big city critics. Yes, folks, he writes about back roads Maine, that’s his territory: junk Cadillacs, bingo night at the grange, chained dogs. Yet his verse speaks just as profoundly about life as, say, Philip Levine’s does evoking assembly line existence in Detroit. Indeed, Levine and McNair stand among the most empathetic poets writing today, lending their pens to the overlooked and undersold.

McNair’s latest collection, “Talking in the Dark,” embraces themes, settings and characters familiar to his followers. Here are the well-wrought short lyrics, the vignettes and friendly ruminations that are this poet’s forte (although one must note that his long elegy, “My Brother Running,” (1993), proved he could, in a manner of speaking, go the distance, and gained him many admirers).

McNair has something of Carolyn Chute’s eye for the poetry of poverty. Sometimes he pays tribute to backwoods chic, as in the poem, “Old Cadillacs,” where he imagines that these luxury automobiles always wanted to

“… let go

of their flawless paint jobs and carry cargoes

of laundry and cheap groceries down no-name roads,

wearing bumper stickers that promise Christ…”

Likewise, in “As They Are,” McNair acknowledges the unfinished jerry-built houses one comes across in Maine. Who hasn’t seen

“the cape half wrapped in plastic

against the cold of this winter day, the four-pane

window on a slant letting in the light between

the porch roof and the eaves”?

There is a touch of humor here, describing the hybrid vernacular, yet also respect for the folks who make do, who can’t afford to contemplate the cliched dream house. Maine architecture is a favorite McNair motif.

Not all is hinterlands here. A poem like “Faces” addresses the greater American culture, specifically our obsession with image. The poem begins:

“It’s not easy in America to look

into the mirror for the perfect face

as seen on TV and find yours instead,

sad-mouthed or bug-eyed or no hair

except the four or five sprouts coming in

at the end of your nose.”

“Speaking of Time” begins with the saying, “Give it time,” and then proceeds to tease out this and other related sayings, creating a kind of verse essay that unfolds in a most appealing manner. “Fine” works in a similar manner, playing around with the various usages of that very American adjective. And “Losses” with its musings on the role of God is simply brilliant.

Echoes of other poets appear here and there. “The Retarded Children Play Baseball” reminded me of Richard Hugo’s wonderful villanelle, “The Freaks at Spurgin Field”; and the end of “Waving Goodbye” recalls lines from Weldon Kees’ masterpiece, “1926.” These echoes only confirm McNair’s place in the continuum of American poetry.

McNair has been well served by his publishers of late. “The Town of No” and “My Brother Running” were reissued in 1997 as a single volume by David R. Godine and “12 Journeys in Maine,” with illustrations by Marjorie Moore, was recently reprinted by Romulus Editions of Portland.

McNair has done his bit, too. He assembled the anthology, “The Quotable Moose,” in 1994, serving up a memorable Maine reader that is a worthy companion of the classic “Maine Speaks.” He also edited a poetry column for Maine Times called “Local Habitations.” And when he isn’t directing the creative writing program at the University of Maine at Farmington, he is on the road, reading his work, advocating for the importance of poetry in our time.

Go and hear McNair the next time he’s in the neighborhood. In the meantime, pick up “Talking in the Dark,” a memorable volume by one of our finest.

Somesville author Carl Little has published eight books. Some of his poems are due to be published in the Puckerbrush Review and the Live Poets Anthology.