In a Tension of Leaves and Binding, Renée M. Sgroi
Guernica, 2024
One particularly fascinating aspect of these poems is the way in which the various parts of the natural world and environment take on sentience through voice. In “earth,” the land chastises humans as the poet writes: “how you bulldozed me, ripped//me of flesh/inside in out, tied…bruises beneath bark, lies seeding the saltiness of oceans//my protuberances you chopped/math-like.” The voice goes on to intensify the litany of sins, speaking of how humans have been “reaping my fecundity//settling city after/city,” with “subway turnstiles/like animals, toxic/mix of methane and atmosphere.” In “Sciuris carolinensis,” which is the Latin phrase for ‘squirrel,’ the squirrel’s voice pleads “bury me under heavy snow and not by the road: I too/have seen my likeness flattened there, decaying, or bury/me beneath a tree, tall limb to my shortened appendages” and then finally ends by saying, “but do not bury me within the old growth forest thinking/you have blessed me with my habitat, for you will one day/raze that space to pour concrete and my body, like yours,/is meant for scavenging worms.” These poems give the various aspects and creatures of the natural world agency, all while reminding readers that they have a responsibility to think before acting senselessly when it comes to the fate and future of the environment in their own respective towns and cities.
The poems in In a Tension of Leaves and Binding are also about the passing of time, seasons, and of loss. In a poem like “apple trees in late winter as if angry,” Sgroi writes of blossoms that “eventually fall,” and branches that look “like wizened Medusas” when they bear snow. In the poem, “in metamorphosis,” too, the first line continues from the title to read “the Buddha says everything changes.” Yes, everything in the natural world is cyclical, and this theme is constant throughout the book. In “preparing to overwinter,” the speaker begins with: “after you died, they sent a bouquet//pink and white flowers with a bow/lilies, large stargazers” and ends with images of the same bouquet, before winter snow, being composted, “tossed on dead remains of garden/yellowed tomato stalks, blackened leaves of basil.” As the wilted petals return to the cold earth, the mourners “mulched/the petals in wet soil/returning a part of you/to earth.” The grief that follows death is further explored in “after the obit” as the speaker ponders how “death exudes its own scent, but grief//is sensed in colognes wafting/from darkly-dressed handshakes,/in cups of too strong coffee.” The initial pains of death and funeral ceremonies fade, but grief remains afterwards “in the first time you make tomato sauce,/sense your mother’s absent hands/in the aroma of tomatoes stewing.” These are the unexpected ripples of grief that follow a loss, surprising and occurring when least expected. These pangs are not to be mapped or reined in by a contrived socially imposed timeline; the heart simply won’t have it.
Sgroi uses Latin consistently throughout her collection, and I found the glossary at the back of the book, with the translation of the names of species—for plants, birds, animals, and insects—was helpful. She plays with language throughout, with both English and Latin words, as well as with the idea of how the craft of writing and storytelling is not unlike the ways of the natural world, so that the reader begins to think about how language can be as fluid as the changing of the seasons. The two—language and nature—are carefully and artistically interwoven.
What is different about In a Tension of Leaves and Binding, structurally, is the inclusion of two reflective poems at the end of the book. “Binding” includes one poem, “of the first part,” which speaks from the first-person point of view, while the second poem, “In other words, two,” is written in third-person voice. Both are two sides of a coin, or mirrored likenesses, or perhaps even something like an overheard conversation between the poet and the natural world. In closing the collection with this dual-voiced, reflective piece, Sgroi offers her creative and poetic modus operandi. If the reader has any question of the poet’s intention, “Binding” offers some potential answers to questions that might have been posed in the reader’s mind. Best, then, to read the poems first, and then to arrive at the reflection having experienced the work of its own accord.
Renée M. Sgroi’s newest collection is one for gardeners, yes, and for those who love the natural world, certainly, but it’s also for those who want to explore the intersections that exist between humans and the natural world, even as it might be cajoled into the form of a backyard garden plot to offer a structure for contemplation. Here there are thoughts of what it means to be with the land, as settler, but also of how to live in concert (as best possible, and in good conscience) with the land and its creatures, plants, water, and earth. In a Tension of Leaves and Binding leaves a reader, then, with thoughts of how to be in the world, how to journey through this life, and how to find anchor points of comfort and contemplation in times when we recognize our temporal nature, our own mortality, and our responsibility to leave things better than we found them when we depart, rather than worse.
