Susanne West: Subterranean Light

In Subterranean Light, Susanne West's first poetry collection, poems search for the light in all of life--from the brilliant joy of grandchildren, through the grayness of the daily mundane, to the darkness of illness and death of loved ones. I like West's poems best that go straight for the focused gleam off concrete images.

     How We Are Helped

     I cut out tiny shapes
     from Japanese papers:
     fans
     cranes
     temples
     butterflies
     chrysanthemums,
     glue them
     in harmonious relationships
     to the paper
     to each other
     to my eyes, hand and heart.

     I draw anything and everything:
     small, detailed
     fish
     stones
     leaves
     landscapes
     houses
     doors
     gates
     shoes
     umbrellas
     in pen and ink,
     then brighten them
     with color.

     A memory.
     Young me
     settled in a corner of my room
     cutting out paper dresses
     for paper dolls,
     stringing together tiny glass beads,
     painting miniature ceramic pieces:
     tea cups
     hearts
     horses
     angels.
     Feeling safe
     with glimmers of joy.

     Being found me,
     gave me ways
     to stay steady
     in this uncertain world
     and helped me
     trust beauty
     as a compass.

Whenever West trusts these concrete images without adding too much abstraction, as she executes in "How We Are Helped," the compass of language leads her to that beauty, causing me as a reader to trust her voice as well. Additionally, I am usually not a fan of single word lines, but the technique serves this poem as well as the next, "Sarah Kisses," in which she effectively utilizes them to enact the kisses themselves before circling back to the opening image for a solid ending.


     Sarah kisses often,
     and always
     as if it's a butterfly wing
     she cherishes
     and must touch.

     At the age of four
     she still kisses
     chairs
     tables
     the air
     the plate of rice, beans and salsa
     lady bugs
     tree trunks
     leaves
     my hand
     her mama everywhere
     books
     and her blankie.

     Yesterday,
     she gently bunched up
     the loose skin
     on my elbow
     and her eyes seemed to say,
     "I understand, Grandma."
     Then she kissed
     my elbow
     as if it was a butterfly wing.

Adding personification, direct address, hyperbole, and metaphor as she blends images into narrative, West expands her range and leans into the wisdom motif that permeates the collection in "Angel of Sadness,"

     She extends her hand.
     Stone, I am.
     Stone.

     Sadness says,
     "You will fall.
     I will be with you.
     You will break.
     I will take the pieces
     and turn them into gold.
     You will wail an ocean.
     I will teach you to swim.
     You won't know who you are.
     I will walk beside you
     as you shed the skins
     you never were.

In "Phoenix," the poet opens with these simple, gorgeous lines: "Dusk. / The day and I / quiet / as snow. After morning's stillness, the poet's attention is drawn to "My daughter's Facebook post. / A few words and emojis / about pain / and prayers." After three stanzas of rumination, and declaration that "My daughter, though, / is a phoenix," she returns to "Dusk. / The day and I / quiet / as snow," appropriately enacting the title and content of the poem with its form.

In the section titled "The Hand of Death," the poem "Ending" contains at its core perhaps the strongest lines in this collection, lines that allow me to visualize the "small world" of an eighty-eight-year-old loved one whose "body [is] / folding in / on itself," filled with the light from a "blaring TV" in gorgeous, musical language.

     The bathroom, the kitchen, the front hall table,
     where you gather your precious coupons.

     Pill bottles
     carefully arranged,
     the way you tried
     with your life.
     The Temazepam
     that the doctor finally conceded to
     after you wore him down,
     that you count and count
     and guard with your fear.

     Blaring TV.
     Law and Order, Criminal Minds, British mysteries.
     A world to figure out.
     The Honeymooners, I Love Lucy, Seinfeld.
     A world to make you laugh.
     Rachel Maddow, Anderson Cooper,
     Andrea Mitchell.
     A world to worry about.

     Altar items on the bed.
     Pictures of us.
     A 45-year-old love note from Dad.
     A 3 x 5 card--
     "Do what you fear. Watch it disappear."
     A large magnifying glass for TV weekly.
     Candy for your unhappiness.
     A glass bell to signal need.

     At times you are content
     in the cocoon
     awaiting your flight.

Carefully arranged, like pill bottles, West's poems are medicine for the soul as they assure us that there is "subterranean light" in everything. These poems find it and show us how to appropriate it for our living and our writing.

Susanne West is a writer, poet, professor of psychology and non dual coach. She was on the faculty of John F. Kennedy University for thirty years and taught classes in the Consciousness and Transformative Studies and BA Psychology Programs. Susanne received the Harry L. Morrison Distinguished Teaching Award at JFKU. She also served as Chair of the Department of Liberal Arts and Director of the BA Psychology Program. 

Susanne has worked in community organizations and private settings with individuals and groups since 1984, specializing in psychospiritual growth and transformation, writing and creative expression. She is the founder of two writing programs--Words with Wings and Deep Writing.

She is the author of Soul Care for Caregivers: How to Help Yourself While Helping Others. Subterranean Light, available in April of 2020, is her first poetry collection.

www.susannewest.com