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Human Costume / A.E. Stringer

Human Costume

By: A.E. Stringer

€12.00 €6.00
Our lives are elevated when they're sympathetic to poetry's wavelengths. We're grateful to find this can happen. In A.E. Stringer's poems this happens as though it were second nature. Dara Wier The poems in Human Costume explor...
ISBN 978-1-907056-18-5
Pub Date Friday, July 31, 2009
Cover Image Mary McDonnell
Page Count 100
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Our lives are elevated when they're sympathetic to poetry's wavelengths. We're grateful to find this can happen. In A.E. Stringer's poems this happens as though it were second nature.

Dara Wier

The poems in Human Costume explore the multiple figures we become. If spirit inhabits form, then our human selves wear flesh and feeling like costumes that both veil and reveal what animates us. 'Is this a laugh on real / life or a mask we cannot take off, put down?' the speaker asks in 'Low Opera,' considering life's imitation of art. At the heart of the book lies the calendar's juxtaposition of All Hallows Eve and All Saints Day, which celebrates the soul's extremes. From the unearthly delights of being alive in the cosmos, through the sufferings of armed conflict and the further trial-and-error of work and love, to the artful (and artfully misrepresentative) forms our human desires take, this book takes a wide angle on the great pageant.

A.E. Stringer

A. E. Stringer is the author of three collections of poems, Channel Markers (Wesleyan University Press), Human Costume, and Late Breaking (both by Salmon Poetry).  His work has appeared in such journals as The Nation, Antaeus, The Ohio Review, Denver Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, Shenandoah, Poetry Northwest, and in Backcountry: Contemporary Writing in West Virginia. He also edited and introduced a new edition of Louise McNeill’s Paradox Hill (West Virginia University Press).  For twenty-four years, he taught writing and literature at Marshall University.  

Reviewed in Books Ireland No. 316, November 2009

American poet A.E. Stringer teaches writing and literature at Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, from where another Salmon poet, Ron Houchin, hails. Houchin has an Appalachian connection and so too does Stringer as he edited a new edition of Louise McNeill's collection of Appalacian poetry, Paradox Hill. This is his second collection of his own poems after Channel Markers, published by the Wesleyan University Press. His work has appeared in American literature journals and he has travelled across the United States and even to Galway to read his poems. This current collection explores notions of identity and being. The human costume of the title is not just the flesh that our spirits wear but the facial expressions and gestures we adopt. The poems also play with the idea of the extremes of human existence. Starting with the apparent paradox of Halloween being followed by All Saints Day, that is the sinners and saints together, he considers the coming together of other extremes in human experience like earthly delights and physical suffering, or love and war. A constant  theme running through this collection is what Stringer calls 'the emptiness' of extremes' in the poem 'Headstone Circus'.

Review: Human Costume reviewed by Philip St. Clair for the Summer 2011 issue of  Now & Then: The Appalachian Magazine, published by the Center for Appalachian Studies and Services at East Tennessee State University

The poems in Art Stringer’s latest collection center on the concept that human beings become multiple figures, and can change themselves as if they are swapping one costume for another – a process that can “both veil and reveal what animates us.”  The title poem focuses on extreme situations: at the stroke of midnight, All Hallows Eve becomes All Saints Day, and when the speaker shows up at a Halloween party, he sees someone who is wearing his shoes, cap, gloves and even his manner: his double, a charmer, has the audacity to make an unsuccessful pass at the speaker’s wife.  But instead of being angry, the speaker is rather proud: “He’s a brilliant study, like you-know-who. / That’s the beauty part.”  But at the witching hour he slips away, and the speaker is waiting for him: they exchange clothes, and the double “dwindles into the harvest moon.”  The speaker returns to the party, kissing a “fallen angel” en route -- after all, it’s a holy day.   
    Human beings and their ancestors have been apostrophizing the moon since the dawn of time.  In “Halo Effect,” the poet, out walking before dawn, sees a familiar atmospheric phenomenon, links it to a Renaissance artistic convention, and produces a memorable image:

                               The halo
        goes where you go, as in
        sacred art: the holy figure

        in the background crowd
        always human, despite her
        unmistakable ring, her placid
        face turning aside.

Sometimes the poet’s fascination with the heavens filters downward into the earthbound and the Everyday.   In “Phoenix Descending,” a woefully out-of-shape speaker does some exercises, and soon, in the middle of a sequence of stretches, a “mortal daze” affects him from the blood draining away from his head:

        And in that imminent faint, whatever
        curtain or tree, whatever wall or
        skyline, whatever floor or grassy plain
        I see before me wavers and floods
        into the star-dotted sea called this
Sometimes the poet can be brutally frank about relationships, and in so doing makes a commentary about the fallout from the vicious give-and-take that often comes with betrayal and divorce.  In “Perilous Rescue,” Stringer recounts the story of three marriages:
        I killed one wife by loving
        the other woman.  In cold beds
        half-a-life ago, they did not
        deserve it.

But it does not end there: the consequences of infidelity seep like a toxin into the relationship with wife number three, who hates

        the sorry story up to now:
        my ex-wives, her children’s
        double lives, the whole damned
        misfit otherness.

In “Dinner Theater,” a brief encounter results in a road not taken when the hesitant, ineffectual speaker turns into a postmodern Prufrock:

        When your eyes trailed over, conceding blue
        affection, and hooked mine, I had to look away.
        “Call me,” you said when I left.  I said I would.
        What I did was lie for months, ears ringing.
One of the delights of this collection is the attention paid to popular culture: Stringer is able to convey its deeper significance without spoiling any of the fun.  In “Revenge of the Cactus People, 1954,” a group of saguaros morph into B-movie atomic mutants, and in “Mirror Puzzle,” Groucho and Harpo Marx engage once more in the empty-mirror scene from Duck Soup – are they themselves, or are they not?  In “Backlot Warehouse,” Stringer invents a place big enough to store the properties from all the classic movies (King Kong, The Maltese Falcon, The Wizard of Oz, and so on) just in case some “Hollywood outsider” wants to use them all to make one single supercolossal blockbuster:

        If all the props were planted in one project,
        the film would tell the story of a nation’s
        birth, a monster audience, an appetite

        for thrills impossible to overestimate.

Philip St. Clair is Professor Emeritus at Ashland Community and Technical College in Ashland, Kentucky.  His most recent poetry  collection is Divided House, published by Finishing Line Press in 2005.

Other Titles from A.E. Stringer

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