Running From, and Finding, Peace in Erik Reece’s “Kingfisher Blues” https://ift.tt/92C0l4z
The poetry in Erik Reece’s Kingfisher Blues easily seeps into the bones with his descriptions of addiction and recovery. In Nuptials, he eloquently shares,
Middle ground is gone. A choice must be made. The leaning oaks await and answer. Leopard moths press against the screen like children who’ve been sent outside so their parents can fight. “Please come back to me,” is what you said.
Having grown up with an alcoholic father, it brought back a childhood where I felt like one of the moths, watching. Having flirted heavily with alcohol as a panacea, wondering at times how hard it would be to stop drinking altogether, I can relate to having no “middle ground” to stand on. Having watched a close family member rely on alcohol, I can also feel myself in the words, “Please come back to me.” I am sure I’m not alone in reading myself into Reece’s poetry.
Vivid descriptions, combined with candidly crafted and beautiful expressions, Reece’s poems are compelling; he writes specifically and globally through his imagery. His work is emotionally accessible.
His poetry describes a life lived in Kentucky, also spanning other landscapes, such as driving through Montana. The locations are desolate and show the complexity, the loneliness, of addiction and recovery, and sometimes of life in general. Reece stays grounded in these locations, allowing them to become part of the character of the poetry. Driving Montana gives the sense of how addiction remains a specter.
Nothing back East prepares you for driving out here, the way everything just sweeps away toward the edges, and antelope up on the butte still flee jaguars that went extinct a thousand years ago.
“Who wants a Rainier beer? Says Hugo, reaching for the cooler. I do; I surely do.
The jaguars, like the stalking horse of alcohol, and things that get swept ‘toward the edges’, give the sense that addiction can be set aside – ignored. Something frightening still lurks. The tension gets broken by the offer of a beer and a means to sweep away darker thoughts and feelings.
Further, in The Art of Living, Reece shares ongoing temptations and balances the small triumphs worked on daily. He’s in recovery in what feels like a wondrous outdoor setting that he can now encompass more than he could previously: “spark I haven’t known since the day I put the bottle down. / The trout, with its almond-sized brain, must feel the same.”
With each poem, Reece builds on the strain of recovery through tension provided by contrasts while remaining deeply empathic. He gives vivid descriptions of his reclaiming health, such as in Shock Corridors, describing days spent in rehabilitation. He includes others he meets as well as what they face alone. Reece shows us how addiction robs people of important parts of their lives. The poem is written as a series of linked scenarios. The final stanza reveals how high the stakes are and his fear of further loss if he doesn’t stay on course. It’s demonstrated through the words of another addict.
Melissa waiting at the nurses’ station, he looked up at me and said, “Christ, man, don’t fuck that up.” I shook his hand and assured him that I certainly would not
Interesting that he finishes this poem with a line break that separates the word ‘would’ from ‘not,’ which falls on the last line. The hesitation, the pause in the poetry, reveals Reece may be hesitant and unsure of what comes next and whether his resolve will stick or fall away.
What makes Reece’s poetry both delightful and sometimes painfully difficult to read is his willingness to process himself on the page. He describes scenes that ask questions and then proceeds to offer up the answers he’s earned. It feels like they’ve been raked out of his core. From the poem Flight:
All my life has been a long series of flights from women, potential friends, anyone else that might draw me out into the arc of failure.
His musing continues,
Now booze no longer fuels my aspirations.
And then he lands us with the final words,
that’s when you start looking people in the eye, and just feel good outside the airport terminal as the cool night brushes up against your skin.
He provides a sense of visceral relief. The ‘cool night’ outside, evoking being able to breathe again after holding one’s breath, and maintaining resolve until stressors have passed. He’s able to build tension, and palpably release it through his art.
Reece tells stories and reveals himself in ways that feel individual, and yet both relatable and universal. His poetry illustrates the ubiquity of running from something and then, hopefully, finding a way to stop running.
In the final pages, he returns us to Montana Sketch where he is,
staying clear of liquor stores, and drinking at the springs that arise inside these mountain spurs.
Reece shows how to be in a different place in life, traveling through the same landscapes in new and healthier ways.
Poetry Kingfisher Blues
By Erik Reece
Fireside Industries
Published November 5, 2024
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