Tanya Poems

Shaughnessy's poignant latest (after The Octopus Museum) honors the women artists who have inspired her own creative journey while delving deeply into memories of formative relationships. The first section functions as an artistic genealogy, with many of the poem titles referring directly to women artists, including Torkwase Dyson and Ursula von Rydingsvard. In "The Impossible Lesbian Love Object(s)," the speaker's voice mingles and merges with the voice of surrealist artist Meret Oppenheim, referencing Oppenheim's experiments with estranging objects such as teacups from their customary purpose: "When no one can use me, I am most free." The legacy of these women artists takes on a near-sacred tone: "My fire handed down to me by cauldron witches/ in their longish unauthorized youth--." The long title poem explores a relationship that has continued to have a profound effect on Shaughnessy over the years, its emotional weight collapsing time to the longing present: "Who needs a future if you'll go away/ into it, leaving me here/ with only the you of now,/ so soon past." This generous and moving volume is a dazzling celebration of the mentors who spark creative life. (Mar.)

"Where, on its way, did an idea become a physical object?" And how, on its way, did this study of ideas become such a probing, richly rendered collection of poems? Shaughnessy follows the LJ best-booked The Octopus Museum with a reflection on women artists as friends, mentors, and influencers ("my fire handed down to me by cauldron witches") and, more largely, women as makers in this world, who "cupped their hands/ to make baskets/ to catch babies" and heretofore have been less travelers than "the traveled." To show that "a road cannot take you anywhere. You must take it," she moves from dancer Georgina Pazcoguin to an array of visual artists (e.g., Torkwase Dyson and Ursula von Rydingsvard) as she follows their roads, their embodying of ideas. Probing the act of creating art means probing what art can do--its catching "a cross section of a skipped stone mid-skip"--and what the artist's responsibilities and limits really are. Shaughnessy relentlessly sifts and shifts through our image making, seeking clarity while recognizing that life is "not a straight story or a jagged line." Meanwhile, she celebrates the eponymous Tanya, wanting to "repair the path between us." VERDICT A remarkable book achieving all its ambitions; highly recommended.--Barbara Hoffert