This shifts into a momentary third stage. A particular instance of
this apparent futility ("My friend Luther, six five/who once bragged
to me/of fucking his Sunday/School teacher") focuses itself into a
sort of revelation about all instances. "O what changes/I've been
thru/I say to myself/ since this all began." Things are moving, in
other words: the voices, the personality, the words themselves, the
book. The tourist, at a low point, reassures himself that the journey
is worth it. Then: "yet he [Luther] throws/a shadow over me."
The next stage follows immediately in "A storm in December,"
whose imagery and voice contrast that of "My friend Luther." We
travel through some intense introspective moments and come out at
"A Sentimental Journey," where subway and flower imagery
become a tangle of questioning diction. The later part of these
poems' travels has begun:

... why should loss become found
why flowers appear?

did wish, whatever else

this poem for
to isolate how such things
spring out

& say if
only to myself tonight

I also spent hours here

For two more poems we make our way through direct treatment of
the voice in intensely personal, habitual imagery. The language
becomes the personality, or the personality becomes the language,
and one or the other of them takes apart the other.
At "Transcendental," another shift occurs. We expand the minute
particulars of the personal into the large and disheartening
particulars of the general culture. The pictures are not pretty, and
the sensibility, as it emerges both for us and for the narrative voice,
is summed up in titles - "Gross National Product," "Implicit
Functions," "History Lesson" - and in the last few lines from "The
Mirror of Metaphor," maybe the most telling in the whole book:

I now grow still inside
like a swamp where mosquitoes
breed

recline as smoothly to bed
as that wheeling wave
to the beach
into sheets clean-swept
as a laboratory

towards dreams which generate
such stuff as we're made of

like Hiroshima
germ warfare

We feel, somehow, that the voice has subsumed or assimilated the
culture, and the product is gross, or worse.
The last poem, "The Old Ways," shows us a more hopeful culture,
the Sioux, who of course have been all but exterminated during the
modern ethos of European disease, photography, Hiroshima and


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Contraband: A Recollection
Reading Forays home
The Mind Errant
"Figure & Ground." An instructive, street-teacher voice:
"money/talks loudest/& in the finest clothes." And also what seems
patently like the author's own voice: "I like my flowers/on a stem."
To name only a few. Find your own.
Using sharp, Williams-like imagery, words spin together like tiny
solar systems and generate linguistic motions which are actual
voices and personalities. The voices are a sort of embodiment of the
words whirling up in us, and they coalesce in precision moments
(like a memory of teenage boys skipping school), in biographical
scenes and generalities, and in comments both oblique and direct on
the individual's relationship with the culture, which is not so pretty.
The personality moves and changes, experiences sublime scenery
and inner anguish across a series of transformations, which is, of
course, a basic implication of the title: a conscious tourist changes
as he (or she) goes. The particular irony of the word "tourist" in this
context lies in the fact that a tourist is always an observer (cf. the
title of an earlier book,
Observations), feels always separate or
detached from his or her place. And in fact, a voice of sometimes
anguished alienation surfaces in these poems. It's part of the culture,
and part of the personality.
There are roughly six obvious transformatons, or stages, in the
book. The opening lines urge us to remember previous poetic
journeys:

Once I was sinister
at all costs: It was crows
black cats, lizards
birds of prey
Give us each day
our weapons
& a battle plan

This reminds us that the speaker and the poems, too, have a history:
these images recall
Total Eclipse, Holsapple's second book,
published in 1977. On the next page we get blunt references to
Shelley and Wordsworth, and a haunted sense of a poetic ancestry
and personal past. With the past established, we travel in the early
poems through vibrant imagery, almost objectivist: the teenage
boys, flowers on stems, small boys playing baseball, first snow, old
ladies, and a couple of almost sappy love poems. Despite what the
common reader might take to be a more recent lineage of recondite
writing (Bernstein's, etc.), anyone can read these early poems with
real enjoyment because the imagery is so sharp and clear, the
language so direct and taut, careful.
A second stage begins at the eleventh poem (this book is
unpaginated), "Conversions," where the opening lines signal a shift
in mood and subject: "When someone drowns/unwanted kittens, or
slaughters/the family pig, it always sends/an involuntary
shudder/thru me." This is a transformation of one of the early voices
from exhilaration to antipathy. He loves growing flowers, but is
also "predatory."
The next poem in this stage is "Tourist," also not pretty. The
personal voice recalls seeing two bosses "corner & ridicule/a dumb
or disabled employee--/purely for sport". We learn: "the mind
seizes/on such instances/as vistas into the world." This is instruction
for reading: the ebullient imagery of the first set of poems and this
darker imagery of the second set are similar, in a Baudelairean way,
because they are part of a single context. The mind seizes on
instances, all instances, and gives them contexts. In the next poem,
"Sacred Shroud," the instance revolves around a tabloid ad offering
replicas of the Holy Shroud and generates a sense of general futility
and emptiness, in contrast to the fullness in the images of boys, old
ladies, first snows.




Tourist