Borrowing her title from the old carnival ride that loops its riders round and round, Nicole Callihan's SuperLoop is as familiar and as thrilling as another go on a long loved ride. Paired with artwork from fellow Brooklyn-ite Re Jin Lee, Callihan's poems sometimes wild, sometimes quiet, always unassuming take us to a place we've been before, but through her eyes that dusty place becomes a bit more magical. Here, the waitress always brings extra whipped cream; divorced parents fall into each other's arms; orchids grow; and, in spite of themselves and the world around them, people find love and walk, albeit reluctantly, into the sunset.
Dawn Lundy Martin calls Nicole Callihan "a master in the language of blush and bruise." That is an exceedingly fine and apt description of the poet who produced SuperLoop. I can't put it any better. I loved SuperLoop. I loved its breathless, hopeful, empty-room memories. The first and last sections were my favorites; some of the middle poems were more abstract than I prefer, and some sparkled like the faceted gems that they are: The Wanting Creature, First Visit: The Dreams, A Poem not of Nectarines, and Playing Dead.
It is my understanding that hardcover poetry books are a rarity, especially for first book poets. Perhaps they are as rare as this debut collection by Nicole Callihan. Apparently, the publisher believed enough in Callihan’s work to put forth the exorbitant funds to finance this beautiful, hardbound book. All I can say is that they are smart, because this is a poet with a stellar command of the English language, who knows how to craft a poem and hold her reader’s attention. Like the great novels written during the turn of last century, the subjects of Callihan’s poems are not original, after all the human condition never really changes. The thing to remember is that she brings a fresh new voice to the issues we grapple with every day.
Savoring the poems in SuperLoop gave me the same good feeling as reading Rod McKuen’s poems as a teenager. I vividly remember being captivated by his voice, simplicity and his ease with the English language in getting his point across. Callihan’s poems are charming, alluring and draws the reader in, without them even being aware of what is happening. The poems are sparse, but rich in thought and universal sentiment. Her voice is eloquent, holding an attitude which displays her edgy side, seductively luring the reader into her words in a way that makes it difficult to put the book down. The white space on the page allows the reader to breathe in the wisdom of her sentiments. For example “O! My miracle, / my orchid on / the coffee table, / my last kiss, / my new shoes, / my silver ring, / only you know / why the jellyfish / wipe stars / from their eyes.
I found myself stopping numerous times while reading wondering how she strung her words together, but ended up reading a few of the poems more than once, such as her poem,
Ordinary I have given up on imagining I am a saint or a philosopher or even much of a poet. I regret I cannot raise you from the dead I am simpler than that. I live on a street in a home. I carry the key to my home in my pocket. Nights, I sit cross-legged on the floor, waiting to be kissed, wanting only a candle to burn, curtains to open and close
Looking forward to seeing more and more of Callihan’s work out in the not-too-distant future!