Laughing at the Last Chance Saloon

The Collected Poems of Fran Landesman made me howl with laughter. I did that because otherwise, I might have had to weep with recognition of the impossible situation that women continue to find ourselves in.

Some of the poems touch on the politics of being a woman. Others touch on the politics of being in love with a man. Nearly every poem walks this razored line; one misstep and what is funny becomes tragedy, or what was intended as tragedy becomes a sad joke.

Still, despite topics that might turn to parody or bathos in less capable hands become sleight of hand. It's a magician's trick; just as we think we cannot bear the suspense or the ennui of the broken-down marriage, the half-wasted life, Landesman drops us into a seat facing the theatre of the absurd, and we laugh in spite of ourselves.

Take the poem "Cigarettes." How many stories begin, "He said he was going down to buy a pack of cigarettes, and we never heard from him again?" Landesman has a solution:

       It doesn't seem to matter if it's day or if it's night        
      A man will get distracted if you let him out of sight       
     So chain him to the bedpost, that's the only thing to do       
     If someone's gonna mess around it might as well be you

Landesman apparently has a best friend like mine. My best friend is a lesbian, and while there's no sexual attraction between us, she talks about how, in the past, I was treated badly by the men I hooked up with.  Still, my thoughts would sometimes turn to "thinking about it." As does Landesman in "Why I'm not gay."

         You'd think that I might risk it           
          If only for a thrill           
         But I'm too masochistic           
        And so I never will

Or, as my girlfriend tells me, I'm too "addicted to the stick." And I did find the right one after I stopped deliberately looking for the wrong one.

Her poetry is not all about love gone bad, or sour, or how tough it can be to be a woman. Sometimes, she paraphrases Augustine's famous prayer (taken from his Confessions), like this from the "Song of the Procrastinating Penitent:"

Oh Lord I wanna be good  
Dear Lord I wanna be good 
 Sweet Lord I wanna be good 
But please not right away

Or "Song from Salvador"

Soul of the poet haunts the panic's heart 
Razors are singing as the teardrops start  
Dreams are exploded in the city's face 
Monkeys are mourning for the human race

The collected poems will keep you reading for hours. Whatever mood you want to be in, you can find it here. And there's a mystery to solve: one of the books is dedicated to Elton John. But she doesn't say why. Something to think on.