When I read books of poetry, my main project is to discover the overall structure of the book.  Sure, I read the poems one at a time, recognizing their unique sounds and images.  But, what I really want to know is, what is this book trying to say to me? Some messages are easier to decipher than others. 

When I spent the month with Leilani Hall’s debut collection, Swimming the Witch, I found myself more drawn to the individual poems than the book’s themes.  Perhaps this speaks to the strengths of Hall’s individual poems, or the subtlety with which she carries out her message.

The poet frames her book with “Letter from Sussex,” a poem derived from her research into the witch trials of Europe and America.  A nameless woman narrates her experience with a confessor, and her ultimate false confession in the face of torture.  In this poem, the woman is punished for looking at men, for men looking at her, for surviving a forced drowning, for not admitting her intrinsic evil.  It is a frighteningly realistic portrayal. 

The poems that follow this opening seem to rely on the spirit of confession.  Individually, the poems are quiet lyrics, each portraying their own small confession, admission or omission.  Together, they whisper women’s secrets, daring to reveal the mysteries hidden in our bodies and psyches. The specter of cancer and disease hang over these poems, as well. 

My favorite poem that hinges on confession is one of the last poems in the collection, “Final Notes.”  In this poem, the narrator and a friend, Joyce, trade post-it notes on each other’s desks, revealing their sorrow and frustration in the shared experience of illness.  This poem in particular rests on what is said and unsaid between the two women.  “There is a pause in our note passing (nothing to put in italic), / and we never speak, slip like water on the sides of pine.”  (2005, pg. 73)  A shared bit of silence becomes tangible in this image.

In other poems in the collection, Hall becomes an astute observer of other people’s losses.  She conveys the tension between lacking and wanting, between wholeness and brokenness.  An early poem, “For Josh Who Thought He Would Not Turn Seven,” describes a young boy’s struggle with stitches, after an unfortunately preventable injury.  The young boy becomes obsessed with the Brothers Grimm story The Brave Little Tailor and begins to imagine thread everywhere.  Hall conjures the thread he sees towards the end of the poem, declaring “Let everything come with thread. / Childbirth. Thread included. / 1984 Chevy pick-up. Thread included.”  (2005, pg. 11) The list goes on, until she describes the accident which causes the boy’s injured hand. 

One of the strongest poems in the collection, the title piece, marries the observed losses with the personal losses.  In this poem, the narrator describes watching a young friend disappear beneath the surface of a lake after swinging on a rope swing.  She compares this loss with the loss of illness, seeing her own body reduced as the young girl’s body was swallowed.  By the end of the poem, guilt and sorrow weigh the narrator’s body down, tethering her to the earth.

Overall, Swimming the Witch is a quiet read.  Given the violence inherent in the idea of witch trials and torture, the agony is more emotional than visceral.  As a reader, I was drawn by Hall’s precise language and subdued imagery, but I longed for more.  For all of the individual poems’ strengths, I wanted to see more clearly the thread that bound these poems together.  But like thread, the themes she weaves are fine and delicate, hard to see against the fabric of her understatedly beautiful language. 

If you would like to join the conversation about Swimming the Witch feel free to visit!  I have also posted the new poll for next month’s book.  Happy reading!

~Jessica.

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Hall, Leilani (2005). Swimming the Witch. Cincinnati: Cherry Grove Collections-Wordtech Communications.