Recount and Prophesy by Alexandra Fössinger is sort of a literary triptych as it is made up of three distinct parts. And while most triptychs are paintings or carvings, this collection is more like a tapestry, each section having a different perspective, yet certain brilliant threads, like the design of gods, mythology, and fate, are woven throughout, connecting all three divisions into a fascinating cohesive piece. Each section displays an ever-expanding view of life and the universe while lacing these threads from one section to the next.
Fössinger starts with Recount, a group of poems with the most tightly focused viewpoint. Here she explores childhood memories and dreams and the way our past, both personal and familial, can determine so much.
From Apfelstrudel :
this paper-thin sheet she filled
with the ingredients
of her harsh love: cut apples, cinnamon, sugar,
pignoli, and a half glass of rhum.
I watched, caught in the heavy weight of
inheritance, its simple inevitability.
From Hecate :
I am an oneiric gardener.
Tending to them softly, I hardly
understand how my own
dreams
doze away unheeded.
From Violet dreams :
There are no traces on your tiny face
of the recurrent dreams
that were passed down to me.
You are aflame,
will perhaps blow out
the curse that interrupted me.
This set of poems leaves the reader with the notion that our lives are not our own, not even the life of someone like Hecate, the mistress of dreams. Fössinger does all this using such lovely language and imagery that it really doesn’t seem all that bad.
The next panel of the triptych is Middle Distance, a little more broadly pointed grouping. While Recount focuses on the internal world, Middle Distance explores the outside world, from a nearby pond across the world to Europe and Africa. And still, outside forces like the luck of birthplace, shape our destiny.
From A Heron :
This deity of the river’s sole purpose
is to wait, and to feed, and to fly;
poetry disclosed without the waste of a word.
From A Water bath, well :
Now would that jerrycan,
that plastic barrel of
forty-four pounds
hurt her back
or would she shrug
her ailments off
like a fly
in a world where survival
would be impossible
if one’d give weight
to trivialities, where
a rough day means
something else entirely
In the final section, Prophecy, Fössinger asks us to look even further afield and explore the limitless universe of the metaphysical, the imagined world of visions and dreams.
From The Clearing :
Wisdom is acquired drop by drop,
the amount of sorrow that the Gods
will choose for us. Perhaps they learned through pain
how too much beauty scorches us,
and makes us insolent.
Intensity is a prerogative of saints. A salamander
will stand in fire and not be burned.
From Gods of the misty lands :
The nature of nature: what we see
as double, is one. Nature is merciless,
deadly,
it has no remorse.
It is –
full of gifts.
Listen; if we do not glide back
into original silence,
it will have us.
The Gods of misty lands reclaiming their place.
This last section brings us to the conclusion that there is not much in our inner, outer, and imagined worlds that we can control, our agency is severely limited. While this may seem fatalistic when spelled out this way, Fössinger’s lyrical verse and mythical imagery never feel fatalistic. Instead, they feel comforting, soothing. And she still has one thing left to share with us, an epilogue titled simply Afterthought containing one last poem that brings it all back into focus and provides us with a view that encompasses the entire collection. While many forces are working to take away our agency and determine our fate, we still have some level of free will. We still have ourselves.
From Self :
Thought that crosses the mind
warrior for time, pain keeper
matter once a year
word plucker, word giver,
something akin to a poem
treelike freelike
fearless prisoner
silence assembler
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