[Tim Murphy]

Introduction to Rhina Espaillat

Yesterday our own Len Krisak was to introduce this remarkable poet to the mysteries of the ‘Sphere. Rhina ascribes her technophobia to her being a contemporary of Thomas Wyatt. Actually, she’s a contemporary of Plath and Sexton, and the contrast between their shrill dementia and Rhina’s wry wisdom could not be greater. Born in the Dominican Republic, she came to New York aged seven; and she writes in both English and her native Spanish. A lifelong teacher, she is a skilled and tactful corrector of other poets’ errors (including my own); and she will be a great addition to the Metrical Board. She is master (mistress?) of many intricate forms, including the villanelle, the ballade, and her favorite: the sonnet in all its infinite varieties.

Lapsing to Grace, her first collection, was published in 1992. Where Horizons Go, her second, won the Eliot Prize in 1998. Her third, Rehearsing Absence, won the Wilbur Prize last week and will appear next year.

Her graceful verse is characterized by a bemused melancholy and serenity which are precious hard to find in American letters. Her experiences as a daughter, mother and grandmother, illuminate her best poems. She might iterate on iteration a bit much for my taste, but this being a poetry site, I’ll close these brief remarks with the final poem in Horizons, an exquisite sonnet entitled “Why Publish?”

Dusty and brown on some forgotten shelf
a century hence—or two, let dreams be grand!—
this wry and slanted gloss upon myself
has slipped into some stranger’s browsing hand.
A woman, maybe, growing old like me,
or a young man ambitious for his name,
curious about my antique prosody
but pleased to find our motives much the same.
He cannot know—nor she—what this one life
from the late twentieth craved, or cost, or found;
he will forget my name; but mother, wife,
daughter has struck a chord, sings from the ground
a moment to his ear, as now to yours,
for what is ours in common and endures.




[This message has been edited by Tim Murphy (edited February 11, 2001).]

[Michael Juster]

It has been very exciting to see Rhina start to get her due. I picked her first book up in a used book store in 1993 before I met her or realized that she was a gathering force fifty miles north of me. I had seen some of her work in journals, and the work, which was always stunning, just keeps getting better. She is also a terrific person (sad to say, many of the prominent New Formalists are a bit disappointing as people), and has been an inspiration to a whole group of poets through her Powow River group, including me, Len Krisak, Deborah Warren, Bill Coyle, Alfred Nicol and many others who are now publishing regularly. She also has a broader influence through her tireless contacts with poets all over the country. So, all of you, go out and buy her books! NOW! ...OK, you have until Tuesday-- but then I start to get nasty!

[Len Krisak]

Highly biased here, since Rhina is my best poetry buddy--we show each other just about everything we write.

That said, notice the particular prosodical subtlety she is capable of in the sonnet Tim cites--line 6, which begins (to my ear) with that famous pyrrhic-spondee combination everyone always talks about in Marvell ("to a green thought").

This in a poem where she uses the word "prosody."

A crafty grandmother!


From One of the Less Nice
Persons at West Chester,

Len

[Tim Murphy]

Len, note too the tenth line:

from the late twentieth craved, or cost, or found;

Pyrrhic/spondee followed by effortless elision on the UNaccented first syllable of three feet which aren't quite Mahler's three hammer blows of fate; but with their full stops and alliteration, are arresting. She's a wise and wily wizened woman. Of course I'm only a slightly more objective--and less pleasant--West Chesterman than you.



[This message has been edited by Tim Murphy (edited February 11, 2001).]

[Tim Murphy]

P.S. Caleb Murdock has presented a judicious selection of Espaillat on Poemtree.com for those who'd like to browse before they buy. As with all Caleb's poets, there's a direct link to relevant Amazon.com pages.

[Len Krisak]

More lily-gilding (yes, I realize that's NOT
the exact phrase, but then I also realize
everyone else will realize that, too):

My thanks to Tim for pointing out the second
use of that pyrrhic/spondee start. I totally
missed the fact that "twentieth" is elided:
"twent yeth."

Rhina bears much re-reading with many rewards.

WC Gun and Couplet Club member,

Len

[Robert J. Clawson]

"she’s a contemporary of Plath and Sexton, and the contrast between their shrill dementia and Rhina’s wry wisdom could not be greater."

I'll grant you "shrill" for Plath, but not for Sexton. Sexton, people forget (as they do Picasso), began as a formalist. Rhina surely knows this, and if she doesn't she can catch the New England Poetry Club's Sexton program the first Monday of March at the Cambridge Public Library, where I and Lois Ames (or Fred Marchant) will explore what a great technician Sexton was.

This is, of course, to take nothing from Rhina's skills. I recall encountering her work in a little mag called AMELIA and wondering why she wasn't publishing in KENYON REVIEW or a similar. She's terrific. I'm amazed, however, at "contempory," because I'm ten years younger than Sexton would have been, and I'm an old fart.

Shameless O'Clawson

[Michael Juster]

OK, I'm going to have to hear this one. I think Plath and Sexton had incredible energy in their work, and both had some formal tendencies, particularly Sexton. However, I agree that there is a stark contrast between their raw purging and Rhina's quieter, more formally proficient work. I don't think of Sexton as a technical master so much as someone on a tear who reached for every weapon in the vicinity, which sometimes were the tools of traditional prosody. I think neither poet bore up well after the cult of personality thing faded, but both of them wrote a handful of truly remarkable poems amongst a lot of claptrap--I think history will count them as minor poets who are unforgettable parts of a memorable, if sad, period of American poetry.

[robert mezey]

Tim, many thanks for the introduction to Rhina
Espaillat, a name new to me. I don't come across
many contemporary sonnets that seem to me worth a
damn, but that is a really lovely one, and I will
look for her books.

[Tim Murphy]

The University of Evansville Press has asked for a jacket comment on Rhearsing Absences, Rhina's Wilbur Prize winner, so I've just had a chance to preview the manuscript. I agree with Bob Mezey that fine sonnets are rare, and this book is chock-full of them. Here's a favorite.

Nightmare

Drums of the heart that batter me awake,
what unmelodic burst upon the ear
within the ear is this? What dance of fear
have you struck up for sleeping bones, to shake
the dreamer home out of the dream's mistake?
The chest explodes with panic, quick to hear
how blood sounds the alarm and all that's dear
seems threatened by some force about to break.

But no,the clock says night, and night says sleep,
and sleep says peace, return, return, reprieve.
The blood is slow again, and body hums
deep in the safe old groove it means to keep.
And heart, almost secure, almost believes,
but for the muffled tremor of its drums.