
Time in these poems, for example, is itself not so much relative as tenuous, as if it’s always slipping away or defined by other tenuous and temporary things. In a related poems group entitled “Three Measures of Time, ” his brother tells time by food (“The past is nutritious; the past is there on the table / with the hair you know is Ma’s color…”); his father tells time by smell (“The smell / of barbeque in a sentence, the scent / long gone flat as money”)’ and his mother by “none of the hours jumping at the window. /By the joblessness of God and the body / beneath a floral bedsheet…”
Place, too, is something ephemeral, as in “Fish Head for Katrina:”
The mouth is where the dead
Who are not dead do not dream.
A house of damaged translations
Task married to distraction
As in a bucket left in a storm
A choir singing in the rain like fish
Acquiring air under water
Prayer and sin the body
Performs to know it is alive
Lit from the inside by reckoning
As in a city
Which is no longer a city…

There are other ways to slice Hayes’ poems – through the filters of race, gender, experience, even age. But the tenuousness of life is what “Lighthead” seems to be most about, a tenuousness rendered with grace.
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Kelle Sauer says
I’m not sure I would read this one in the place I am now – I prefer poetry a little more grounded. But if I was looking for new perspective, I would like to read “tenuousness rendered with grace.”
Good review.
Kathleen says
Words with the power to disturb and give shivers. What a unique paradigm he has.
n. says
thank you for this look into another poet.
Maureen Doallas says
A week or so ago I saw a video of Hayes giving a reading. He’s quite funny and a wonderful reader. He’s also quite a fine poet.