Olives, by A.E. Stallings, is a collection of poetry that explores relationships, mythology, nostalgia and the passage of time, nature, and song through its musical poetry. Stallings is a master of rhythm and meter, and each poem feels like a song coming to life. The collection is not incredibly long, but it is split into three sections, with the second being only three poems about Eros and Psyche, and my personal favorite section.

Mythology is an ongoing theme throughout Stalling’s book for good reason; she lives in Athens, Greece and is also a translator. She references Christian mythology in a poem about Adam and Even: “Eavesdropping Adam heard her say / to the snake-oil salesman she was not born yesterday” (Four Fibs, 9). She describes how Eve was not ignorant when she took the apple from the snake, but made the choice to do so and fibbed about whether she was tricked; further, Adam knew she fibbed and didn’t care. It recontextualizes the Garden of Eden into a story of humans choosing knowledge over blind obedience to God, and I really like it.  Stallings also has a full section of three poems in the middle of the book about Eros and Psyche, where she talks about their relationship. For example, she writes, “The story went, Soul married Love / And they conceived, and called her Pleasure,” which is of course, exactly what happened—Psyche became the Goddess of Soul after undergoing trials set for her by Aphrodite, so that she could marry Eros, God of Love, and they had a daughter  named Hedone, the Goddess of Pleasure (Persephone to Psyche, 43). This section of poetry is also really lyrical, and focuses on storytelling: “Come sit with me here at the bar. / Another Lethe for the bride. / You’re pregnant? Well, of course you are! / Make that a Virgin Suicide,” says Persephone to Psyche (Persephone to Psyche, 43). It’s a rather fatalistic section on how Psyche is so obviously pregnant, and how Lethe can make her forget about all that—Lethe is the River of Forgetfulness in Greek Mythology. I enjoy the fact that throughout her sections on mythology, Stallings puts a fatalistic, realistic twist on the stories with a focus on the women in them, and on their choices. 

Another focus of Stalling’s writing is her focus on relationships between people—specifically, love and also family, with heavy references to her son in the third part of the book. For example, she writes “But we were young, did not need much / To make us laugh instead, and touch, / And could not hear ourselves above / The arias of death and love”  (Recitative, 7). I love the phrase “the arias of death and love,” and the poem really emphasizes how young lovers can spend time in the honeymoon phase, and really only focus on themselves. However, I favor her writing about her family. She writes: “Eyes wide open, grinning ear to ear, / Balanced between the thrill of fear and fear, / The clutches at my skirt to keep me near” (Listening to Peter and the Wolf with Jason, Aged Three, 62). It is one of the best poems in the book, and a beautiful piece on motherhood and the bond between a mother and child. In the poem, a mother tells her son a story, and despite his fear, he stays near, knowing he is safe. It is a truly emotional poem, and many people can relate to the love and safety they feel with their family.

Stallings also writes about the natural world in her book, in way that truly brings nature to life. It is not just simple lines about “Bees in the lilac bush… Fig trees clattering in the wind,” but so much more (Handbook of the Foley Artist, 29). She personifies nature in a way that reflects mythological version of Mother Earth as a powerful, ever present deity. She writes:

“It is all the same—

the power plant, the forest, and the night

the manmade light.

We are engulfed in an immense

Ancient indifference

That does not sleep or dream.” 

— On Visiting a Borrowed Country House in Arcadia, 19 

Nature is powerful; nature engulfs manmade machines and absorbs them until they are one. It is a beautiful thought: this ancient power that does not dream, that despite all we do, still considers us a part of nature. You see more personification of nature throughout the book as a consistent theme. She writes that “These tulips make me want to paint: / Something about the way their drop / Their petals on the tabletop / And do not wilt so much as faint” (Tulips, 57). The poem is just describing tulips, but it is so much more; they inspire Stallings, and she is writing about the inspiration they give her. It is almost like a sneak peek into Stalling’s brain and what inspires her to write what she does.

Stalling’s poems on nature reflect another grand motif within her work: a study of nostalgia and time, and the feeling of timelessness and liminality. Her book itself almost feels like it exists out of this time. Near the beginning, she writes: “there was no difference between / A tragic ending and a comic scene, / Because the play was running out of time” (Deus Ex Machina, 13). She sets the entire poem in a play, a temporary, acted out thing that is false even if we get caught up in the illusion. She almost likens life to an illusion, something temporary and not real, which is a beautiful, thought-provoking image. In opposition to this consequenceless world, other poems focus on the consequences. In another poem, she writes “That even if you had returned /  You’d only be a kind of ghost. / You can’t go back. It’s time you learned / That what is burned and burned is burned” (Burned, 16). His poem is all about facing the consequences of your actions; the narrator is most definitely not in a play. This back and forth is what truly gives Stalling’s book its liminal feeling. She is aware of this when she writes about dinosaurs near the end of the book: “Some sudden awareness of time unsung, / Aeons whe monsters stalked the earth; / How once even their parents were young / In that vast prehistory to their birth?” (Dinosaur Fever, 56). Are we to be the next generation of dinosaurs, the youthful ancestors to our later people who are wiped out by another extinction event? It is baffling to think about how young the human race truly is in comparison to dinosaurs, but we hardly thing about them. They are completely gone, and we could be too. Stallings ends the book on this note as well, truly making time the grand motif: “One day you realize it. It doesn’t need to be said— / Just as you turn the page—the end—and close the cover— / All, all of the stories are about going to bed:” – (Another Bedtime Story, 67). In the end, Olives is just another bedtime story.

Song pervades Stalling’s book throughout: it is poetic, lyrical, rhyming, and many times actively mentions musical theory or notes. It is what makes Olives unique, and brings it together not thematically, but sonically. It is a book meant to be read aloud. For example, she writes that “The cries of owls dilate the shadows. Weird harmonics rise / from the valley’s distant glow, where coal / extracted from the lignite mines must roll / On acres of conveyor belts that sing / The Pythagorean music of a string” (On Visiting a Borrowed Country House in Arcadia, 18). Lyrics such as “the Pythagorean music of a string” and “weird harmonics” not only reflect the vivid imagery that Stallings is known for, but bring up acoustic imagery and make her poems almost three-dimensional. In other poems, she is even more explicit about using musical language. She will say  “A century old, they said, /  It’s sound will never change. / Rich and deep on G and D, / Thin on the upper range” (Two Violins, 24) or “My eyes are ultrasound. I echolocate / Like the pipstrelles that drop / their slick guano on the sloping slate” (The boatman to Psyche, On the River Styx, 43). Musical language like ultrasound, echolocate, or mentioning the upper range truly brings her poetry to life. In one poem, she brings together musical imagery and language explicitly: “Maybe that’s why / The sappy retro soundtrack of your youth / Ambushes you sometimes in a cafe / At this almost-safe distance, and you weep, or nearly weep / For all you knew of beauty, or of truth” (Pop Music, 38). A simple image—listening to pop music in a cafe—becomes so much more in Stalling’s capable hands.  My favorite poem in the whole book is the poem “The Eldest Sister to Psyche,” in part because of my appreciation for Stalling’s lyrical abilities. The poem is two stanzas, and the second stanza is identical to the first stanza but backwards, with the punctuation changed to give the poem a whole new meaning. The work and knowledge that must have gone into that truly impress me. 

Olives is a work of art, a poetry book by poet A.E. Stallings. The inspiration she gets from mythology and her own life is evident: many poems near the end of the book are about her son, or her experience as a mother. Ultimately, the entire collection is brought together by its musical quality; it is almost like a cohesive album. If I had to pull one thing from Stalling’s work to imitate, it would be her mastery of lyricism and rhythm; her poems sound like songs, and I hope that in some years of practice, I can begin to master that level of rhythm that envelops my readers in the poem and makes it a multi-dimensional experience.