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Ocean Plastic, by Orchid Tierney

Ocean Plastic, by Orchid Tierney

BlazeVOX Books9781609643218

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Each iteration ends with a last word: respectively, petromonster stomachs stomachs flesh filters gyres stomachs sympathy sympathy gyres gyres gyres gyres gyres nylon-riots. Which is to say, begin with the petromonster and the inevitable interconnection of all things will give even Buddha a stomach ache. One hopes we will riot against feeding the monster like nylon metaphorically protests against itself strangling the planet. For this poem, while powerful (and moving when chanted out loud), isn’t worth its root source.

—Eileen R. Tabios

Only an innovative, critical eco-poetics can track language unit by unit while simultaneously showing us nasty fibrous bits from the clothes washer that spill into the food-chain in our water systems. In her new, impressive (and pointedly impressing) chapbook, poet Orchid Tierney melds together units of speech simulating or riming with the synthetic microfibers of polyester (how appropriate for our post-postmodern times!). Her page by page, ever expanding text adds phrasal chunks together in cumulative strings mimicking the gross indignities we inflict on the natural world. (If you eat fish, the poet tells us, you can be sure that you’re also eating plastic.) And her methodology similarly reminds us of parsed sentences, of dependent clauses trapped like splintered shards inside independent ones, at their beginning, middle, and end. The ultimate chop and change of generative language globs. Accruing, accumulating, like clogged up lengths of stringy garbage. “[An] amputated sea welts sympathy,” we’re told, and we can sympathize graphically: a living praxis of mish-mashed phrases coiled to the point where our brains actually throb. Positing an inventive, water testing vocabulary to outline what we do to our ecosystems likewise.

Throughout Orchid Tierney’s steadily self-generating text we find ourselves spinning inside the swirling machine, moving from “airy spines spun with sea gull stomachs” (the opening page) to “polymermaid / … / gritty grains gauge / … / garbage gyres / polyester /… / a hurd of nurdles / … / polyghosts / … / nylon-riots” (closing page). Advancing the work so ingeniously foregrounds both text and texture, linking a spiny, tight phrasing with polyester’s poisoning of the water. Units of speech accumulated, then, right to the sharp-eyed edge of our eco-madness. (We are, after all, water bred creatures.) Tierney’s language strings spin-cycle us along in a seasick ride from her opening page’s single phrase to a closing 35 unit conglomeration of brilliantly messy bits, buried at the singular heart of which the―literally, central―phrase “finger lichen good,” voyaging us from this (washer) load of piled up phrasal clutter to the final site of our inevitable ocean-cide. With our natural resources now truly at stake, we’re really getting to the drowning point here, where the washer hits the waves, spilling those spikey microfibers ghostlike into the food-chain: “guppy globsters tumbling over gill filters / … / partial polyghosts soupify in garbage gyres.” Turning and turning indeed in widening gyres. Feels like we’re hitting the catastrophic end.

—Stephen Bett, author of Back Principles: a book of spiritual fatigue

It is with intuition rather than calculation that Tierney’s #ocean plastic# forages, gathers and arranges. With intuition chosen over calculation, Tierney’s unit of measure is a unit of matter. Responding to the pipeline with the ethics of the poetic line, Tierney’s particular attention models a dwelling among that can teach both how and why we might turn the plastic we find into an ecology of ethics.

—Michelle Taransky

In ocean plastic, Orchid Tierney takes us deep into the Pacific Gyre, where we watch the garbage vortex form with toxic inevitability. Phrases accumulate, combine, and recombine to convey the mixing of chemicals and doomed sea life, a mix that gains in its pull the more is added to it. Deadly suction builds with every stanza. As phrases fragment and fragment again, we watch the chopping of living organisms caught in the vortex, plastics grinding them into a recipe neither wholly unnatural nor redeemably natural.

—Anne-Adele Wight, author of The Age of Greenhouses and An Internet of Containment

Orchid Tierney is from Aotearoa-New Zealand, currently residing in Philadelphia. Her chapbooks include Brachiation (Dunedin: GumTree Press, 2012), The World in Small Parts (Chicago: Dancing Girl Press, 2012), Gallipoli Diaries (GaussPDF), and a full-length sound translation of the Book of Margery Kempe, Earsay (TrollThread, 2016). Her collection a year of misreading the wildcats is forthcoming from The Operating System. She co-edits Supplement, an annual anthology on Philadelphia writing.

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