The Echo Chamber

Michael Bazzett

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From Michael Bazzett, poet and translator of The Popol Vuh, a collection that explores the myth of Echo and Narcissus, offering a reboot, a remix, a reimagining.

“Narcissus was never one to see himself // in moving water. // He liked his image / still.” In The Echo Chamber, myth is refracted into our current moment. A time traveler teaches a needleworker the pleasures of social media gratification. A man goes looking for his face and is first offered a latex mask. A book reveals eerie transmutations of a simple story. And the myth itself is retold, probing its most provocative qualities—how reflective waters enable self-absorption, the tragic rightness of Echo and Narcissus as a couple.

The Echo Chamber examines our endlessly self-referential age of selfies and televised wars and manufactured celebrity, gazing lingeringly into the many kinds of damage it produces, and the truths obscured beneath its polished surface. In the process, Bazzett cements his status as one of our great poetic fools—the comedian who delivers uncomfortable silence, who sheds layers of disguises to reveal light underneath, who smuggles wisdom within “rage-mothered laughter.” Late-stage capitalism, history, death itself: all are subject to his wry, tender gaze.

By turns searing, compassionate, and darkly humorous, The Echo Chamber creates an echo through time, holding up the broken mirror of myth to our present-day selves.
Florida


Watching baby alligators

and their white needle teeth

go to town on the bloated corpse

of an indeterminate mammal

is not my favorite way to begin

a Tuesday. At least I have coffee.


I’ll take a walk on the beach, I said,

not planning on seeing a seething

mass of reptiles swarm the hulk

of what was once a domestic pet

and tug at its remarkably rubbery

flesh then jerk their heads back quick

as if tossing back a shot of low-grade

mezcal, because alligators cannot chew.


Watching them scuttle and work

their teeth in a sideways sawing motion

that might be employed by an inebriated

man going after a cheap cut of meat

is a reminder that successful evolutionary

design does not have to be beautiful.


No, it can also be about gnarled things

peeled like bark from the rutted tree

of ancient hunger then loosed to shred

a body you might have called good boy

in a foolish lilting voice as you scratched

behind his ears, snugged him

close, and he shut his eyes in bliss.


***


Echo


Remember when we used to

remember things, she asks.


And for a moment he looks

up from his phone. Yeah

he says. Then, gently,

What made you think of that?


Nothing, she says. It’s just—

Having memories was nice.


He nods and smiles absent-

mindedly as he scrolls.


Outside the snow falls

heavily into the lake,

ton after ton of silence

disappearing into itself—


***


The Man On The Screen


The man on the screen

refers to imaginary worlds

with raised eyebrows

and such a patronizing patience

that we begin to suspect

he thinks the world he lives in

is actually real. That this

is not a joke. Have you heard this one?

A man walks into a club

with two penguins and a nun.

It’s a black and white film from the ’60s.

No. A man walks into a club

held by a policeman.

The cop holds it still

while his fellow officers

encourage the man to walk

into it so many times

it becomes a meme. They assist him

once he cannot stand.

One cop picks up the man’s slack hand

and begins to slap his face

and say, Stop it! Stop

slapping your own face!

Put nipple-clamps on the old language

says the man on the screen.

Give it some voltage.

We watch the clip again

and again, clucking

our disapproval, shaking

as we fumble through the cushions

for the remote, a word

that means “far from the centers

of population” or “possibility

that is unlikely to occur.”


***


The Comedian


The comedian slips the mic from its stand,

gathers the excess cord in a loop, and placidly

stares at the audience.


A few people titter expectantly. He paces,

stops, shifts his weight to one foot,

and the murmur dies away. The comedian’s

eyes roam the crowd. He raises an eyebrow.

A woman guffaws. A ripple of laughter.

Time passes.


The audience shift in their chairs, making

papery sounds. A man clears his throat.

“Come on,” someone shouts. More minutes

pass. A few people shake their heads, chuckling.

Others sit stoic, not chuckling at all.


Whispers simmer through the crowd,

and people begin gesturing to one another,

“Is his the joke? Us?” Near the back someone

says a name, Andy Kaufman, as explanation.


After seven minutes, the comedian slips the mic

back into its holster, and whispers,

“You have been a great audience. Ever since

you were born—”


His voice breaks. He is still

as glass. It seems he might shatter. Instead,

he begins to take off his clothes. There are more

clothes underneath. And then more clothes

underneath. Eventually his body begins

to peel away,


and it becomes clear he’s not

a man but a slender woman. And then no longer

a woman but a heron. And not a heron but

a blade. And not a blade but the light

it catches as it falls,

and soon he is not even that.
Contents


History

I Travel Back in Time

The Problem

Movie Night

The Campaign

Hunger

The Monster in Late Middle Age

Costume Shop


____


Inside the Trojan Horse

Menu

The Wall

What I Did

The Man on the Screen

Career Day

Florida

Part of the Animal

I Decided to Invent a Poet


___


Echo & Narcissus, Revisited


___



Persona l

The Summer Pool

The Play

Narcissus

Things to Think About While Shaving

Echo Tried To Save Narcissus

The Trail

The Anger Artist

Six Mirrors

At Fifty


___


The Singular Library of Mr. N

Secrets

Echo

La Avenida de Santo Narciso

This Line Means Nothing

The Epidemic

A Stone

After Mr. and Mrs. God Died,

The Comedian


Acknowledgments

Sujets

• contemporary
• Folclore
• América
• 21st century
• Echo
• Myths and Legends
• General officer
• Poetry
• General
• American
• Narcissus
• Folklore

Informations

• Publié par: Milkweed Editions
• Date de parution: 09 octobre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781571317469
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE ECHO CHAMBER
Also by Michael Bazzett
Poetry
The Temple
The Interrogation
Our Lands Are Not So Different
You Must Remember This
Translation
The Popol Vuh
THE ECHO CHAMBER
poems
MICHAEL BAZZETT
MILKWEED EDITIONS
2021, Text by Michael Bazzett
All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher: Milkweed Editions, 1011 Washington Avenue South, Suite 300, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55415. [phone]
milkweed.org
Published 2021 by Milkweed Editions
Printed in the United States of America
Cover design by Mary Austin Speaker
Cover art Alec Soth / Magnum Photos
21 22 23 24 25 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Milkweed Editions, an independent nonprofit publisher, gratefully acknowledges sustaining support from our Board of Directors; the Alan B. Slifka Foundation and its president, Riva Ariella Ritvo-Slifka; the Amazon Literary Partnership; the Ballard Spahr Foundation; Copper Nickel ; the McKnight Foundation; the National Endowment for the Arts; the National Poetry Series; the Target Foundation; and other generous contributions from foundations, corporations, and individuals. Also, this activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund. For a full listing of Milkweed Editions supporters, please visit milkweed.org .

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bazzett, Michael, author.
Title: The echo chamber : poems / Michael Bazzett.
Description: First edition. Minneapolis, Minnesota : Milkweed Editions, 2021.
Summary: A collection of poems that explore the myth of Echo and Narcissus, offering a reboot, a remix, a reimagining-and holding up the broken mirror of myth to late-stage capitalism, social media, and our present-day selves -- Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021004731 (print) LCCN 2021004732 (ebook) ISBN 9781571315380 (paperback ; acid-free paper) ISBN 9781571317469 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Poetry.
Classification: LCC PS3602.A999 E27 2021 (print) LCC PS3602.A999 (ebook) DDC 811/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021004731
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021004732
Milkweed Editions is committed to ecological stewardship. We strive to align our book production practices with this principle, and to reduce the impact of our operations in the environment. We are a member of the Green Press Initiative, a nonprofit coalition of publishers, manufacturers, and authors working to protect the world s endangered forests and conserve natural resources. The Echo Chamber was printed on acid-free 100% postconsumer-waste paper by McNaughton Gunn.
for Leslie
CONTENTS
History
I Travel Back in Time
The Problem
Movie Night
Th Campaign
Hunger
The Monster in Late Middle Age
Costume Shop

Inside the Trojan Horse
Menu
The Wall
What I Did
The Man on the Screen
Career Day
Florida
Part of the Animal
I Decided to Invent a Poet

Echo Narcissus, Revisited

Personal
The Summer Pool
The Play
Narcissus
Things to Think About While Shaving
Echo Tried to Save Narcissus
The Trail
The Anger Artist
Six Mirrors
At Fifty

The Singular Library of Mr. N__________
Secrets
Echo
La Avenida de Santo Narciso
The Procedure
This Line Means Nothing
The Epidemic
A Stone
After Mr. and Mrs. God Died,
Th Comedian
Acknowledgments
THE ECHO CHAMBER
History
after Jameson Fitzpatrick
The vinegar tang of a glass of wine
left out on the counter overnight, the hint
of cumin on your fingertips, dried lavender.
All this is the smell of you in summer,
and now it is history. I woke alone
and slid my legs into the twin flannel
tunnels of my sweats, and it was history.
I walked down to the 7-Eleven
for a Big Gulp in lieu of coff e
and this ill-considered choice
was history. The sweet syrup in the mix
had never seen a cane plantation. It was born
of corn, which is what the ancient Maya
said the first people were made of. And yes
this too was history. Is history. Our ability
to take a moment here to quibble over verb tenses
is a consequence swollen fat as a paperback
some thoughtless person left out in the rain
of history. The melodramatic line breaks
in this poem are history. Both the relatively justified
length of line and the use of the word justified
to suggest things come out even in the end
are history. And the head-fake back there
in stanza one where you thought this might be
about the end of a relationship but discovered
otherwise is history. As is your inclination to continue
trusting me. Because the fact that I can take
the time to write this all down, considering what
to include and what to leave out, as I tap keys
that were injection-molded out of a blend
of thermoplastics by distant people I will never
have to think of again is one definition of history.
One definition. Not the first. And not the last.
I Travel Back in Time
I travel back in time to find a woman by a pond,
embroidery hoop in hand, her needle
dipping and rising
like a dolphin
as she hand-crafts
a selfie.
She inclines herself to ponder
her image in the water, then chooses a bit of wool
to catch the light that flecks
her eye.
Wow, I say. Awesome.
She blushes and says, Prithee good sir, speak
not of what inspires awe
here beside this humble pond
whilst I dabble with my cloth and cord,
imperfect as I am.
Whatever, I say, It s all good.
This is how I study history. I go there.
I see the sights and smell the smells
which often entail fresh
dung, spring
rain, and copious animal odors.
Needlework done, she will hang it on the chestnut trees
that line the lane beside her home.
I encourage her to do this
as a sort of status update ,
to let folks know
she s looking good and living her best life ,
phrases I have brought her as mantras from the future
where we are fully committed to such things.