poetry book club: cati porter’s ‘seven floors up’

by Jessica Fox-Wilson

Seven Floors Up, a new book of poetry by Cati Porter, is ultimately familiar, in a good way. The book addresses the responsibilities that so many of us balance in our daily lives: loving husbands, raising sons, caring for parents and cleaning up all the messes that are left behind. Beneath the surface of the tasks and errands hides the nagging impulse that pushes the narrator and reader towards creation and reflection. In many of Porter’s poems, the impulse bubbles up; in others only the simplicity of the tasks remains. Seven Floors Up is a book that mirrors real life, in all of its messiness, chaos and brief moments of serendipity.

Porter’s book is arranged in three close to equal parts. While I am accustomed to books that segregate their main themes into sections, Seven Floors Up resists this easy categorization. Instead, the narrator explores marriage, motherhood, identity, art, rape and death in each section. At first this arrangement seemed jarring. I felt plunged too quickly into the realities of a narrator grappling with a dying beloved pet, the insidiousness of rape and the dark sensuality of a marriage. However, as I continued to read, I recognized that this is the shape of real life. We don’t separate our time to reflect on a sexual assault and our time to determine our identities. Instead, it happens all at once, bleeding together.

Some of the book’s best poems are both clever and complex, weaving a smart approach to language with an emotional theme. For instance, the second poem “Marriage as a Board Game,” navigates the minutiae of marriage through the words in a game of Scrabble. In the poem, the narrator plays with her mother, stepmother and mother-in-law, and they struggle for attention and power through their words. “LOVE, I spell, the E the tail of my WIFE. / My mom makes love LOVELY. / My stepmom slips OH in, which / could read as Oh…, or Oh! or Oh? / but there is no punctuation in this game.”

“mum”, another smart poem, takes language on a significantly darker turn, revealing the definitions of words like mum, mother and mother tongue, in the context of sexual exploration and rape. I can’t say that this is an easy poem to read, mainly due to its graphic (but not gratuitous) subject matter. I still admired the ambition and scope of this it, and the authenticity in Porter’s lines.

Not all of Porter’s poems are entirely difficult or dark. There are several that are simply funny, touching or sweet. Many of these poems address a seemingly light topic, before taking a weightier turn. In two separate poems, she writes odes to items for sale on Ebay, including a crazed lobster dish and an inflatable church. At first these poems are quirky and fresh, until they bring home their true intention: addressing lost loved ones and religion. One of my favorites in this style is “Caution Please Do Not Try to Turn the Head Forcefully by Hand,” which was inspired by a sticker found on her son’s jeans. She begins by making a light joke of the situation, wondering how the sticker made its way to the knee of his jeans, until she delivers her jab: “I am grateful to whoevever had the foresight / to apply that label / grateful that they did not choose // “Open Me first” or “Discard After________” / grateful they turned my attention to the fact // that someday someone may turn his head.”

Cati Porter’s Seven Floors Up is an interesting book, similar in some ways to the style of Sharon Olds or Muriel Rukeyser. It’s a book that many of us can relate to, committed as we are writing in the face of real world responsibilities. While at times it feels dark and heavy, it is also hopeful in the moments of reflection and serendipity that Porter captures in her pages.