Interesting Emendations: Lawrence Joseph's "A Fable"

Lawrence Joseph’s "A Fable" is one of my favorite New Yorker poems of the last decade. I remember reading it when it originally appeared in the January 25, 2016 issue. Like a great jazz solo heard for the first time – Coleman Hawkins’ “The Man I Love,” say, or Gerry Mulligan’s “Lonely Town” – it blew me away. It’s like a gorgeous double helix – a strand of city beauty (“a bench in the shadows / on a pier in the Hudson”) wrapped around a strand of abstract dystopia (“the flow of data / since the attacks has surged”). And the colors – “great bronze doors of Trinity Church,” “a red / tugboat pushes a red-and-gold barge / into the narrows” – are exquisite, right down to that final inspired, delightful touch (“Gauguin / puts a final green on the canvas // of the Self-Portrait with Yellow / Christ, to complicate the idea”), so surprising that it makes me smile every time I read it.

Interestingly, the “A Fable” included in Joseph’s 2017 collection So Where Are We? (2017) subtly differs from the version that appeared in The New Yorker. For example, the comma after “now” in the lovely “The café / on Cornelia Street, the music, / now, whose voice might that be?” is deleted from the later version, slightly changing its rhythm and meaning. In fact, a total of seven commas are deleted from the second version. I like it slightly better without all the commas.

Another notable change is the dropping of “the” from “The future, the past, cosmogonies, // the void, are in whose vision?” The line now reads, “Future, past, cosmogonies, // the void, are in whose vision?”

I find such changes fascinating – a glimpse into Joseph’s compositional process. To my eye (and ear), the rhythm of the So Where Are We? version is a shade more free-flowing. Both versions are brilliant!

January 25, 2016 Issue

Ah, the surreal reality of Jiayang Fan’s ravishing descriptions:

On a recent Wednesday, a pair of patrons—dressed decidedly frumpier than their cashmere-sweatered, silk-bloused neighbors—commented, above the snarl of eighties-era Hüsker Dü and Circle Jerks, on the thematic connection between a drink named The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (sherry, grapefruit, cardamom) and one called Lee Marvin (tequila, agave, orange). The energetic barkeep who claimed authorship grinned: “I’m not so clever. For example, I also came up with this.” He pointed matter-of-factly at the New Fuck Buddy (rum, coffee sauce, lemon), which he advised pairing, improbably, with Szechuan-peppercorn duck wings.

That’s from Fan’s inspired "Bar Tab: Mother's Ruin," in this week’s issue. Her Rauschenbergian word assemblages – “frumpier than their cashmere-sweatered, silk-bloused neighbors,” with “the snarl of eighties-era Hüsker Dü and Circle Jerks,” with “the thematic connection between a drink named The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (sherry, grapefruit, cardamom) and one called Lee Marvin (tequila, agave, orange),” with “the energetic barkeep who claimed authorship,” with “the New Fuck Buddy (rum, coffee sauce, lemon),” with “Szechuan-peppercorn duck wings” – first surprise, then delight.

There’s another exquisite construction in this week’s issue – Lawrence Joseph’s poem "A Fable." I don’t claim to fully understand it. I like the swift, vivid notations at the beginning – “Great bronze doors of Trinity Church,” “A red // tugboat pushes a red-and-gold barge / into the Narrows,” “A bench in the shadows // on a pier in the Hudson,” “The café / on Cornelia Street” – like pictures by a savvy street photographer, Marvin E. Newman, say, or Sid Grossman, or Morris Engel, or other members of New York’s Photo League. And I like the specificity of the place names – Cornelia Street, Peck Slip, Water Street, Front Street, Coenties Slip, Stone Street, Exchange Place. The poem expresses passionate engagement with the city. I like the colors – bronze, red, red-and-gold, green, the yellow in Gauguin’s “Self-Portrait with Yellow Christ.” How often do you see Blake and Gauguin juxtaposed? Not often. Most of all, I relish the lineation, the stanzas’ wrap-around edges – enjambment, I think, is the fancy word for it. I’m not sure what to make of this poem. But I’m glad I read it.