This review refers to the 1973 Harvest / Harcourt Brace Jovanovich edition of the text.
I do admire Alice Walker as a thinker and have heard (of course) many accolades for her writing, but I had never read any of her books before; this is my first. The stated premise for Revolutionary Petunias and Other Poems—that it critiques the loss of love and hope amidst the realism of revolution, and celebrates those who preserve their belief in love and beauty even amidst horror and war—greatly appeals to me, as someone with both sympathy for the radical and a deep well of sentimental reservation about a politics of violence and power. Unfortunately, this book didn’t quite meet my expectations based off of that premise. But it was still an enjoyable, often moving, and occasionally illuminating read.
Walker’s poetic style is clear, confident, and emotionally rich. In her hands, straightforward sentences (punctuated with the occasional delicious grammatical tangle) bear enormous emotional weight, and she accomplishes impressive nuance with unpretentious word choice. Short, terse lines give her poems a precise, exacting demeanor on the page. The occasional rhymes of this book are also, I think, a masterclass in doing rhymed modern poetry well—they are subtle and irregular, such that rather than feeling like a structure imposed upon the poem they feel like a cohering effect emerging from within the poem itself; such that rather than feeling like the language has been selected in such a way as to produce a rhyme it feels like the language has settled gently into the rhyme of its own accord.
The book’s first section is a largely autobiographical reflection on grief, family, and community. I think this is my favorite part of the book: she writes with an incisive but loving eye about her family and community, and she describes grief with insight and sensitivity. Black life, death, and religion are all treated here as both weighty and ordinary, capable of being described casually (as she does) but deserving to be given weight and significance (which she also does). Her writing about death throughout is just terrific; early on she closely relates death and memory which is a thought-provoking and astute choice, describing her late grandmother as being, dead, “forgetful of it all,” describing her own hurt as being more for memories and not as much for the fact of death. Later on she imagines her own death an “immaculate / corridor/passion”—that slash, treating two such different nouns as abstract “passion” and concrete “corridor” as interchangeable, the weighty religious vibes from “passion” and “immaculate,” and the unexpectedness of the word “corridor,” make this one of my favorite phrases in the whole book.
There is indeed revolutionary sentiment here (see “Eagle Rock”) and in the title track “Revolutionary Petunias” she suggests that not all violence is evil: she has a female character, Sammy Rue, laugh about being painted as angry and militant for avenging her husband. But it’s a complicated moment: this character is so mad about the misrepresentation that she laughs, “fit to kill.” The poem sides with Sammy Rue, justifies her violence, mourns her execution, celebrates her dignity and humanity in the face of it all, but it also emphasizes the circularity and inescapability of anger and violence. Walker takes a much darker view of revolutionary thought in “He Said Come,” which describes someone who should be a comrade in solidarity acting instead as an exploiter. There, as in the excellent “Clutter-up People” (my third favorite poem in the book, if I had to rank them) which derides war as “too comprehensible,” Walker’s critique is against a certain laziness of imagination among the supposedly revolutionary, against those who reiterate rather than dissolve violences.
Her approach deepens on the complex, difficult “No Fixed Place,” which wants to believe that “shy love” will win out and find its place, while at the same time saying there is, well, “no fixed place” for people, that believing in miracles will not save us, that “shy love” will only win when aided by “voluptuous blood”—“blood:” bloodshed, or as metonymy for life and love? I cannot make my mind up as to whether this poem is bleak or hopeful or what (at first it seemed soaked in despair, but as I’ve sat with it I’ve become more unsure). It’s certainly the deepest, gnarliest, and most well-rounded treatment of those themes in the book. My second favorite of these poems is probably “Black Mail,” which is also quite dark. It conjures up the resonant and arresting image of the crucifixion of a man in a suit of armor, who can only be stabbed through the gaps of his helmet. I am still not sure what to make of it, what that image might represent or correspond to, but it’s very striking and haunting and has stuck with me.
My favorite in the book, and the poem which probably ties this book’s themes together the best, is the penultimate poem “Beyond What.” In contrast to the martial, “too comprehensible” comfort zone of those loveless revolutionaries the book critiques, Walker here imagines lovers as seeking “destinies beyond / what we have come to know.” She imagines the union of lovers as not “melting” but “known mystery. / Shared but inviolate.” This is both a much more appealing and beautiful understanding of love and intimacy than any claim to complete unity could be, as well as a subtly political formulation with implications for the way individuals and movements interact. And in the poem’s last stanza she articulates both a methodology for political work, and an imagination of a political endpoint: a “council between equals,” for which the word may as well be love. It’s a beautiful and thoughtful statement that really elegantly ties love and politics together; I wish the whole book had been like this one poem.
But instead there was also a fair bit of this book that let me down; I loved some of these poems, yes, but many left little to no impression on me at all, and others even left a poor impression. Some of the poems veer into the imperative mood, straightforwardly providing moral dictates to the audience; these also did not appeal to me, as I did not feel that they had particularly strong insights, were particularly well expressed, or were a particularly effective or forceful method for transmitting those instructions. Other poems end up more corny than touching, more cringey than profound: for example, the final poem in the book, with its pompous capitalization and the choice to end the book on the italicized sentence fragment line “Revolutionary Petunia.” (an obvious ending that felt limp, not impactful, and contributed absolutely nothing in terms of either beauty or meaning), meant that I closed this book with a somewhat soured impression of it, especially since this underwhelming conclusion came right after “Beyond What” which I so loved.
And I guess (and maybe this was just due to a deficiency in my reading, that I may have missed some subtle connections?) I was somewhat disappointed in how rarely the poems actually directly engaged with the stated theme of the book. I’ve written above about how much I appreciate how some of the poems think about that topic, but honestly those poems are rather few and far between. The autobiographical grounding of the beginning, with its reflections on what death means, what community means, etc., would be the perfect springboard for a serious reckoning with the high stakes of revolution, but Walker never really makes that move. Where the poems are about revolution, they are most often about its lovelessness, not about what it would be like to preserve love in them; where the poems are about love, it is more often about interpersonal love—it is possible to read revolutionary possibility into these love poems, but Walker doesn’t usually make any textual moves in that direction. (I also wonder somewhat about the political utility of focusing so much on the lovelessness of revolution, while only once or twice remarking on the lovelessness of that which revolution opposes.) A lot of the lovier poems about intimacy are …fine? But not particularly interesting to me, and not what I had hoped this book’s love poems would do. (Side note: many of these later poems place a lot of weight on giving/taking/gifting/possessing. I’m not totally sure how that fits in with these larger themes, but it is interesting.) Maybe it’s that, by opening the book with an artist statement that lays out her intended theme, Walker grants herself dispensation from reiterating that theme in the poetry itself; that that indication of theme is meant to give us a framework to read it through, not lay out a roadmap for the poet herself to follow. But even in that case, the book still only really makes glancing engagements with the problems and possibilities of Walker’s stated heme, and it dallies more often elsewhere. I don’t think poetry books need theses, I don’t think all poems in a book have to reflect a thesis statement if there is one; but this book does have a thesis, and I feel like the poems therein don’t quite live up to it.
These are not fatal flaws, and this is not at all a bad book. I was impressed with the clarity and force of Walker’s poetic voice, and even if this book didn’t quite do the political work I hoped it would, I am still convinced that her perspective can be valuable and instructive. If I understand the timeline correctly, this is an early work in a storied career; even if this book didn’t entirely do it for me, its promise makes me think I should seek more Alice Walker out.