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O: Love Poems from the Ozarks, by Dave Malone
PDF Download O: Love Poems from the Ozarks, by Dave Malone
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Rooted in the Ozarks, rushed with language that wakens and intrigues, red with passion or perspective, these poems will call you back—to the bedroom, to friendship, to love, to your own geography.
- Sales Rank: #2823004 in Books
- Published on: 2015-01-23
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.50" h x .20" w x 5.50" l, .24 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 78 pages
Review
“Malone knows what and where he loves while his poems form an intimate geometry of hill, home, flesh and bone, as essential as they are elemental. This work is chiseled.” –Mike Luster, English & Philosophy Professor at Arkansas State University
About the Author
Dave Malone is currently writing the history of Ottawa University Kansas, his alma mater. An editor and filmmaker, his work has been aired on NPR and featured in numerous journals and publications, including Every Day Poems, San Pedro River Review, and Elder Mountain: A Journal of Ozark Studies. This is his sixth volume of poetry.
Most helpful customer reviews
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Love Continually Transforms
By Maureen E. Doallas
In his new collection O (T.S. Poetry Press, 2015), poet Dave Malone charts both physical landscape and seasons of love, revealing how, in the Ozark countryside he calls home, geography figuratively shifts while love continually transforms.
In "We Blossom the World", the first poem in the book's first section "Spring", what Malone's lovers "can't say to each other" finds release through nature's own language—in "forsythia bushing out gold" and "torn-up sky greening into tornado". No matter that "[c]louds shake with gray" ("The Knobby Throat of Spring") or "April wind batters" ("Thunderboomer"), intense love-making ensues, expressing itself in "golden prairie flames, / the timber plain consumed" ("Hips").
In summer, "calves, thighs, shins, / white as cottonwood blossoms" and legs that "hold up the body / that's grown into the body" loved ("Photograph") urge abandon to and in the lovers' oak four-poster, "[his] tongue . . . sweeping low / against [her] flower" ("Silk") until the interminable heat of Ozark August turns even night a "traitor".
By autumn, no calendars need "mark the flutter of romance . . . the flutter of union"; the lovers "sleep beneath the sexed redbuds / purpling like bruises" ("Unmarked"). Their "backs break in loving— / and then the rest . . . " ("Loving"). Absence hollows out before giving way to "a landscape / of cannon and chipped maps and civil war" ("Civil War"), leaving the lovers "at home in frigid water" ("The Deep").
With winter's gloomy arrival, the lovers, "[t]wo poets, . . . try to wrangle language / into feeling" but language "bucks the same // in starts and end stops, promises no forgiveness" ("Language"). Still, there are "[t]iny / bursts of electric lights" in the "dark inside [of] these Ozark knobs" ("Ghosts), hinting of love alive, and efforts "[i]n the finality of midnight [to] break against sleep / and total darkness" reveal at last "the tiny blade / of the new moon" ("New Moon"). With the promising light of that new moon comes the lovers' recognition that "time moves / backwards and forwards";
[. . . ]
Before we can eat brunch,
we are adrift in snow. [. . .]
Before we can speak the language
of knowing each other, the shorthand
for gardening and taking out the glorious trash,
we are dropped on a railroad bed.
Under the blue moon, a locomotive
churns through the pine forest.
Blinded, we weep like newborns
until arms join in the utter, forest dark.
~ "Tiny Machine"
And so life and the love that refreshes and restores it cycle through O, light giving way to hurt giving way to darkness giving way to light.
In the vividly realized geographical and metaphorical landscapes in which he creates his love story — story, not simply a series of individual poems addressing the subject — Malone is unabashed in exalting romantic and physical love. As economical and plain-spoken as they are, his poems never shy from declaring love in its most passionate forms: in flesh and in blood, of body and in spirit.
The poems, however, also speak to what happens when a "gangly" moon "looms as boring as it can get" ("Separation"): the eyes of the lovers dull and words fail and lips become "only a solid line". Sometimes, Malone reminds us realistically, love takes us into "lands unseen"; sometimes, though painfully, it just leaves us a voice that's "small and squeaky" or hands that get "lost / in the emptiness of space."
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
The geography of passion
By Glynn Young
My first experience with the Ozark Mountains was virtual – a novel called “The Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks” by the late Donald Harington. It was published in 1975; I read it about 1980 and thought it was hilarious. A few years later, we spent a long weekend in Branson, before it was discovered by all the big name entertainers and when Silver Dollar City and the duck boats were the big attractions.
It was then that I learned about “The Shepherd of the Hills” and the Bald Knobbers, a group of vigilantes who were still fighting the Civil War for the North in the 1880s, their enemy being the Anti-Bald Knobbers, who sided with the south. I also discovered that St. Louis is considered to be in the foothills of the Ozarks, surprising, since the Ozarks are about 100 miles away. And we’ve spent several long weekends at Lake of the Ozarks, created way-back-when by a dam and today a heavy tourist draw from Missouri.
So my knowledge of the Ozarks was essentially limited to what any observant tourist might know. And I didn’t consider the movie “Winter’s Bone” to present an accurate portrayal of life in the Ozarks, either.
I’ve had a different picture of life in the Ozarks, and it’s thanks to Dave Malone’s poetry: “View from the North Ten;” “Under the Sycamore;” “Seasons of Love;” and “Poems to Love, and the Body.” His latest collection, “O: Love Poems from the Ozarks,” includes some of the most vivid love poetry I think I’ve read.
What kept coming to mind as I read it was “The Song of Solomon.” Malone uses a similar kind of imagery, imagery that is both candid and subtle. It is imagery that tells you this is a man deeply and profoundly in love. Consider his poem “Language,” which is ostensibly about poets and writing:
Language
Two poets, we try to wrangle language
into feeling—as lost as fledgling cowboys
locked between two chopped gates
as they slide down onto barebacks
of impossible broncs bent in shocking
iron and man. Language bucks the same
in starts and end stops, promises no forgiveness
to two bards, dropped into knee-high mud,
arms and legs tangled as if one corpse,
quarters dull our eyes, and lips only a solid line
save the glimmer of your bicuspid
(or perhaps mine) in fading rodeo lights.
A lot is happening here, not the least of which is using the imagery of the rodeo cowboy to describe both the writing of language and a love between two poets. Notice what would happen if the very first line was changed to read “We poets try to wrangle language”; the entire meaning would be lost.
That’s how Malone plays with words in O. He says in the introduction that “Many of the poems in this volume were ones I originally sent to Jenni [his wife]. Often, I was the courier, delivering them in shadowy, Ozark night. Other times, my biking messenger, James … brought them to her workplace. Sometimes, a poem rested on our bedside table, ready for us to read together at night.”
The poems of Dave Malone are constructions of beauty, turning the images of the everyday into something wonderful shared between two people, and shared between poet and reader. The poems become part of Malone’s Ozark landscape, not only the local geography but also the geography of passion. The Ozarks must be one interesting place to live.
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
In awe (and in love) with this collection
By Darrelyn Saloom
O begins with an essay “From the Poet,” which gives insight into Malone’s journey into poetry and his “interesting twists of fate” that led him to his wife, the inspiration of his latest poetry collection set in a fertile landscape.
The author explains, “Given the rich natural world where she and I live, given our roots, it was of course natural that southern Missouri, our hills and hollers, the lake, and our little burg between a pair of Ozark knobs would provide the backdrop for my love poems to her, for this work.”
True to his vision, each poem is planted deep in the Ozarks. But it’s clear from the first “We Blossom the World” that this poet’s word choices paint “The wetness of dew settling on beat-up barns,” and allows witness to “The back forty sinkhole where I drop all my sins against you” (5-7).
No doubt, Dave Malone’s words spring from passion. His poems entice your eyes onto the page, and then he holds you there in awe.
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