Ken's Reviews > Three A.M. at the Museum

There’s something beguiling about the thought of a museum after hours. You know, a more intimate and frank congress between you and all those paintings without the pesky tourists and shadowing guards mucking matters up. In Alarie Tennille’s latest collection, you get the virtual goods by way of a strong showing of ekphrastic poetry, each subtitled with the name of the inspiring painting, the artist, and the year it was created.

Seeing the painting itself is, of course, optional when it comes to ekphrastic works. Yes, you could Google them up to see what you can see first, but Tennille herself is equal to the task of being your eyes.

There’s more to good ekphrastic poetry than descriptions, however. Brief as most Tennille pieces are, many provide not only key details but a brief and intriguing story as well. In this respect, the artist gets into the heads of characters and the moods of settings within the paintings -- instead of the proverbial thousand words, providing a more concise rendering. Something akin to Emily Dickinson’s famous dictum of “cutting to the bone” when writing poetry.

In “Open House,” for instance, Tennille takes an imaginative leap spawned by Vilhelm Hammershoi’s 1905 painting, White Doors, making the painting part of a realtor’s listing:


Can’t you imagine coming home
to this stately gem each night?
I let clients think I opened every single
door to let in light and show off
the stunning woodwork. Well below
market price--the owner took a job
overseas. For sale AS IS, so you can add
your personal touches.

Last night I closed each door. Today
they gaped wide open. As you wish,
I whispered. I’m leaving well enough
alone, afraid to do my morning walk
through.

A ribbon of cold air trails me, room
to room. I brought my collie, still leashed
to the porch rail--as far as she’d come.
Crossing my fingers this place sells today.
I’ll lower my commission if I have to.

Can’t you feel the history? I ask
the young couple, giving them my card.


“Open House” offers a unique narrative thread, almost as if the reader were treated to a peek over Tennille’s shoulder as she takes notes on the painting. Haunting! Hmn. Painting as snapshot for a realtor’s listing? That’s interesting. I can see that now.

In addition to the ekphrastic bounty collected in this book, Tennille also provides her trademark quotidian gems by mining her past, present, and possible future. Dinners with a husband, life with cats, a mother’s foolproof chicken and dumpling recipe.

What’s especially attractive in these Everyman poems is their approachability. Here, you won’t find yourself scratching your head and muttering, “Huh?” all the time or getting lost in painful word thickets only to return to line one, where you must gamely give it another go. Plainspoken, these poems reach out a warm hand and meet readers on their own terms in ways they can relate to. There's an economy of words that knows how far to go and when to stop.

By way of example, I give you…


Alone at the Diner

Thinking coffee.
Thinking wheat toast thinly spread
with raspberry jam over a pond of butter.
Thinking two eggs, yolks running away,
corralled by a fence of bacon.
Thinking, “I’m the only customer,”
but feeling you lean across the table.
Knowing you want a taste.


Rich with specifics as well as breakfast imagery and metaphor, this nifty little poem is a great example of how poetry can speak to powerful emotions such as love without being overly obvious or arcane.

Such are the rewards of Three A.M. at the Museum. Paintings and other small passions. Narrative and lyric. The stuff of life in the gift of verse.