Niki Nymark’s poems are vivid, varied
Published September 4, 2008
A Stranger Here Myself, a collection of poems by Niki Nymark, published as part of the Missouri Women Poets Series from Cherry Pic Press, offers a vivid and varied selection of subjects and sensibilities. Nymark is perceptive and humorous, a poet whose first offering in this splendid collection is titled In Praise of Prose, in which she compares the dull safety of prose to the excitement of the poetic form:
Forsake poetry
Prose is better
more dependable.
less dangerous,
like that nice boy
your parents hoped
you’d marry
Poetry is the one
you’d climb
out the window
to meet at midnight
In the above little gem, Nymark differentiates the choices we make between the warm hearth of a secure home and the fiery furnace of unpredictable passion with those few lines, while Woody Allen and Philip Roth require an entire film or a whole novel to do the same. So it is with the entire collection, whether Nymark is expressing her deep love for an intimate life partner, or recalling the adventure of relatively mild misbehavior as a child, she uses just a few brush strokes to paint verbal pictures that are by turns poignant, thought-provoking, sweet, ironic and often very funny.
The intimacy of a loving couple is evocatively expressed in Morning Love which is spare in verbiage but rich in texture and expressiveness:
Bring wine,
Bring roses,
share my cup,
share my bed,
kiss my breasts,
let me kiss your head
Later we lie, toes
tender touching,
my ear on your heart
hears its sweet beating
We watch the shadows
of leaves, of rain
move across the ceiling
Again, with just a few well-chosen words and lines, Nymark covers the entire range of a loving couple in their moments together, combining tenderness, eroticism, and the secure closeness of a committed relationship. Morning Love has the quality of serenity and peacefulness which are associated with Shabbat, a day in which we are encouraged to express our closeness to loved ones.
Another kind of intimacy, that which one feels with a long-term and trusted friend, one with whom one shares a special sense of humor, what the French call a folie á deux, “foolishness between two people,” or a “madness of two” is expressed sharply in For Moishe — as follows:
What we have found,
seventh decade love,
on the phone at night
telling jokes so old
no one else would laugh,
the Laurel and Hardy of ecstasy.
I slip on a banana peel;
you catch me in your arms.
Those who know Nymark personally, appreciate not only her intellect and professionalism and her ability to work with people of all ages, with colleagues and friends, but also her terrific sense of humor, which literally shines through her words.
Another, longer poem in this collection describes the complex feelings we have for close relatives, those we lose and those who survive them, in My Story, which reads:
Aunt Min tells it:
My grandma, Toba Hinda,
pillaged her bedroom
the night she died,
to find the gold band
Meyer gave her
in 1904.
Thin, deaf and sharp
as a rose quartz crystal,
she slipped it on her
elegant hand
and died.
Not like her, I thought,
when I heard the story,
Grandma was pragmatic,
didn’t believe in an afterlife,
“When you’re gone, you’re gone,”
she’d say
Aunt Min, on the other hand,
could paint her mother for us
like a Picasso.
Foolishly, I think
my life is my own,
but know
my children
will reinvent me, after.
Thus with a few lines, Nymark can “reinvent” special moments from her own experience for us, can “paint” with her words “like a Picasso.” With bold brush strokes, sharply visible lines and vivid colors, Nymark is a modernist poet of the first rank, and her collection, A Stranger Here Myself should have a place on the shelf of any serious reader of excellent poetry.