"Words on Poetry," reviews of poets by Miriam Sagan from the Santa Fe New Mexican.
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John Brandi, In What Disappears

John Brandi writes poetry of travel, meditation and far ranging reference. He has lived in New Mexico since 1971, and patiently practices the art of poetry in what can be called the American Romantic tradition. Influenced by the philosophies and aesthetics of Asia, his work is in the stream that runs from Emerson to the Beats in that it looks outside of puritanism and capitalism for its muse. Such poetry emphasizes nature, and in later generations ecology and a sense of interconnection.

Brandi’s new book is In What Disappears (White Pine Press, 2003). The poet himself labels the theme of the collection as “transience.” Brandi says: “People and things and landscapes all are constantly arriving and disappearing as are thoughts and words and clouds etc. ” He points to the poem “Quandary Peak Return” as an example of this:

It’s not done, never completed. The road twists higher than the mountain.
Water shines from slick rock, a vulture swoops
then knots its dark flare in the sun’s eye.

Midway through the poem, the poet asks, seemingly both himself and the reader “Is this what you remember?” And at the end, although the way may be found, it is still ephemeral:

A butterfly in a deer print.
green moss on weathered rafters.
Clouds through the ceiling beams, everything
shape shifting in the rain.

One of the exotic places visited in the travels in In What Disappears is Viet Nam--a country which, no matter how beautiful, will always be fraught with complex associations. Although the poem begins with a pastoral:

Fields, green with hard labor.
Hoes swinging, water lifted in baskets
one canal to another

it soon moves into history:

Yesterday a man who lived
ten years on the Ho Chi Minh Trail said
“Now the time is to go on.”

Brandi explains what inspired him here: “There's the idea of war ‘disappearing’ a country (Vietnam) in ‘Song of the Red River’ -- the poet visits the country to see if it really is there, really isn't gone; he wants to see it without the news of war or the reality of war or the effects of war, but as is, as was --with its rich agricultural, literary, historical, social, religious etc. ongoings intact. The poem shows what you DO go on with after war destroys (disappears a place).”

Some of the poems in the book, the ones which comprise the final section called “Geography Lesson,” are more directly confessional or personal than is usual for this poet. Of course all lyric poems are personal in nature, based on the poetic “I” of the writer who sees, experiences, comments. But poems which derive from childhood, or from events which might be traumatic in nature, tend to be considered from the confessional school in poetry. Brandi explains that some of the poems in this section “are more personal --in that they open up a private story relating to upbringing, childhood, experiences with family heroes (Uncle Joe), neighborhood demons (Jaques and Keith in Geography Lesson), false religious figures (and real ones) (in No Sister of Mercy), the idea of having compassion, first experience of "considered understanding" after an unnerving experience (Pink Oleander). I wanted to end book with this material to reveal out of what beginnings did this guy (author) spring forth.”

Indeed, these are among the strongest poems in the book. “No Sister of Mercy” has a violent confrontation:

Once, on a on a hot day, I tossed a stale sandwich
from my lunch box into the empty lot behind the school.
Sister Mary Bernadette caught me, made me eat it
sand and peanut butter grinding between my teeth.

However, the section and the book end on a note of transcendence in “Final Directions” which is about death but also the acceptance of life. In giving directions for a funeral, the poets says: “Call in accordions and violins/Wake those who have gone before me/with enough beer and wine to shake the neighborhood.” Brandi’s vision continues to grow--a healing vision of connection and unity.

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