A Good Clan Is Hard to Find

This is from a book I picked up called "The Us" by Joan Houlihan. It's sort of a novel in verse, but it's very short, around 60 pages. It tells the story of a primitive people who are possibly Neanderthals (the "Us" as opposed to "Thems") and has one of the most original voices I've read in contemporary poetry for a long time. Here's one of my favorites, the second poem in the book. It tells a story of the father/leader of the clan and a hunt.

Morning, and as sun is born

Joan Houlihan

Morning, and as sun is born from dark
ours father took the track to where 
the red deer ran except one stood 
great-headed, tall, of a size and look to put in mind 
the reach of what us were and came to be
and how us were the smaller.


What formed hims elk-head 
godly, as from an inner body, 
bone-branched, notched and wide
spread and sprouted out and up 
and him on a standing, watchful 
and seen, ran the forest, 
head-struck and stuck 
between the trees.


Ours stick sharp for the kill 
lifted high, in and in, and from hims throat 
a groan went, leg bent, 
knelt, then all of him were loosed and spread 
in large and steaming breath, 
ours stick-holes streaming red.




It could have well been a disaster, this experiment. It's a little pretentious, kind of wonky and could easily devolve into patronizing Tarzan-speak. But there's an alive, vivid quality to the tone that is so fresh and unique. To me at least, it really puts me into a more elemental space. I can put down my iPhone, (my magic future box), tune out the cars and seaplanes and TV chatter. That's a pretty rare thing, to be able to really invoke a world, a time and place. 


I highly recommend the book, it's published by Tupelo Press and is about $17 but worth every penny.