Erin Wilson

Erin Wilson’s at Home with Disquiet is a tricky journey through the poet’s life—through adolescence, through marriage, through pain, through joy. At times viscerally maternal, at times quietly introspective, this thin volume hits many of the right notes of poetry. We find many of the poems’ initial subjects slip away to shed more universal lights on the reader’s thoughts and life. Wilson’s verses are of course deeply personal and biographical, with many references to Canadian life, but overall, there is something for everyone here. There are pastoral moments, cringy family moments, angry moments, etc.

The books arrangement is ostensibly chronological, going from Wilson’s early life to her current years, highlighting the growth and changes that age and family beget. However, the perspective of the poems can change around a bit, sometimes the poem is more contemporaneous, sometimes they are a look back at this period, creating a nice meta-parallel throughout the volume. Sometimes it’s about what she felt, sometimes it’s about how she feels about what she felt.

There is a stand out verse here about the complicated feelings of contempt, peace, and fatigue at the end of a long day of taking care of the household:

“The mother is alone.
The house stands still for a moment
in its terrible shock of silence.
Then shakes off its cold blanket.
The mother leans into herself like tilted kindling,
a neanderthal, or philosopher returned to her cave.
She begins to make the fire.
It doesn’t matter what she makes the fire with.
The mother burns.”

If that gets you going, go ahead and read this book. If not, read it anyway.… (mehr)

First, to explain how I would rate poetry. A good book of poetry is, most importantly, endlessly re-readable, with each slow and careful reading producing new and ultimately highly valuable insights. In short, deep and valuable.

I've only read this book once so far: in a few sittings, fluidly without pausing to contemplate what I was reading. So, I cannot give a definite rating, but in the interest of giving a review as soon as possible I'll offer the following, which can only at best be impressions.

The book was obviously deep and re-readable, calling for slow and careful study. There were many layers which simply went over my head, but I could see glimpses of the kind of insights Wilson offers, which are of very high value. It gave the impression of overall unity. When my understanding rose to the occasion, I variously found myself laughing; moved; transported into nature; experiencing time differently; delighted by appearance of unity. Overall, I really enjoyed the reading experience.

Aesthetically, the reading was captivating. Wilson has an obvious love of language (and language itself is a recurring topic), and next time I read through, I'll definitely be writing down a lot of vocabulary. Her command of sound is excellent and varied, so I enjoyed the entire reading experience on a musical level. One mysterious device here is the use of words in a primal/dream-like fashion in order to frame each chapter. These seem to carry layers of meaning beyond comprehension, but thereby invite endless contemplation and support the theme of the book. Another interesting technique is the occasional, abrupt use of sexualized language; affecting surprise in the reader, they deliver unexpected meaning and new connotations. I will admit that I was personally thrown off by the crudeness of this technique, but there is still something to appreciate in it.

The book touches on topics such as motherhood, nature, time/change, wonderment, mysticism, meaning of life, sickness, aging, and death. The medium is personal, and this functions to bring a level of authenticity and realism, and the results are universal insights. The depth of introspection and detail produces originality in her story. A line I'd like to praise is, "My hand handled the spatula!" Out of context, totally strange, but in context, it comes from a real, revelatory experience of wonderment in the face of the mundane -- a particular shift in consciousness she experienced --, and it completes a theme opened earlier in the book when she observes her little child absorbed in the present moment, filled with wonder at the sheer experience of a changing, transitory world, causing her to desire an expansion of her own experience:

"And Liam, at nine years old,
through the breadth of our ordinary
little lives,
notices this and notes it,
reports it to us, the world,
where our eyes should persist,
where our listening should linger.

It eases out of him like his breath
and gets caught and coated,
can be seen in the cold air
as witness to transitions---
'What an opportunity!'

What an opportunity, just this.
Always, just this."… (mehr)