Christopher J. Jarmick Reviews Hold Fast by Holly J. Hughes
Hold Fast
ISBN 978-1-7341873-0-4
Empty Bowl Press, https://www.emptybowl.org/store/hold-fast
2020, paper, 116 pages, $16.00
Hold Fast, and read Holly Hughes' latest
Reviewed by Christopher J. Jarmick
Most of the poems in Holly J. Hughes' latest collection of poetry Hold Fast are thematically intertwined dealing with the ebbs and flows of life. Hold Fast is a nautical term and also refers to the barnacle and kelp on the sea floor. The poems are about how we hold on and let go of things, thoughts, people and places. Holly's observations are at times refreshing and at other times familiar in a gently witty manner. Surprisingly, the collection was written and published prior to the Covid-19 pandemic (released in February of 2020). Surprisingly, because it is a collection that is perfect for these times, yet wasn't written as a response or even commentary on our days so it isn't likely to ever feel dated or stale.
I find myself reading poetry books in many ways. Often I sample poems randomly and then eventually read them in the order the poet and/or editor intended. The better poetry books do not lose anything from this approach. When I review a work I will still do this, read through the collection faster than I normally would, and then read it again more slowly. I also read the first few lines of the very first poem and then the last two lines of the last poem in the book. I doubt any poet or editor thinks about this when assembling a collection and sometimes I'm surprised at what I find. It works particularly well in Hold Fast should you want to indulge yourself in this odd ritual.
There are two poems with almost the same title: “Hold Fast” and “Holdfast.” The first takes an unexpected, very effective dark turn. I won't spoil it for you, but please take your time with it. The second, “Holdfast,” tells of the bull kelp drifting with the tide but “anchored to the sea floor by a half-inch barnacle called a holdfast.” From “Holdfast” pg. 49:
. . . it lets go what it can, holds fast to the rest.
That’s what we’ll do come November.
Hold fast to what sustains: our friends,
a steaming bowl of soup, this beach.
There's solid connection to nature and often the sea in many of her poems so you won't be surprised to learn that Holly has spent thirty summers “working on the water in Alaska in a variety of roles: commercial fishing for salmon, skippering a 65-foot schooner, working as a naturalist on ships,” and also leading workshops in southeast Alaska.
My favorite poems in the book (and I have at least a dozen) juxtapose emotion, human frailty and nature ecology in witty, sometimes surprising ways. There is a good mix of quiet-as-a-gentle-sea-breeze poems and stormier louder ones. I appreciate the mix very much. I found only a couple poems that were completely predictable or blandly overly familiar.
There's a poem written about the anniversary of the bikini, which wonders (at first) why an atoll is named for the swimsuit (spoiler: it isn't); there's an ode to the last roll of Kodachrome ("So long to companies we trust . . ."); and Harold Davis—once known as The Great Alanza, the high-wire daredevil who was the first to use a wire at a 45 degree angle—is remembered in a poem. There's one dedicated to the bandleader of the Titantic, another about the release of 80 Starlings in Central Park in 1890. There are also a few poems that evoke other poets and the ritual of writing poetry. All have multiple meanings and reveal something about our condition, our behaviors, what we have given up and what we still hold onto. From “Nostalgia Redux” pg. 26:
When will nostalgia, that hopeless Siren, stop winking in the rearview?
Yes, a golden age for the rich, the born right, the lucky, the white.
Rust shimmers as it oxidizes, burnished by time; until then,
maybe it's just the corrosive truth of rust.
There are a few concrete and prose poems mixed in with the various non-rhyming but often metrical poems that make up this collection. These were written with care, purpose and skill and edited, re-written several times before they were published (many previously in journals both print and online and anthologies).
There are several moving, tender poems dealing truthfully, warts and all, about taking care of elders and dealing with Alzheimer’s. From “Subtraction” pg. 72:
. . . Faces blur
and she sees not by sight
but by emotion, sensing who
is with her, how they're feeling,
what do they want her to do
and does she want to do it?
I was wowed by the tenderness and bittersweet moment depicted in the poem “The Bath,” which isn't done justice by being excerpted (it's on page 74). There are many I'll specifically revisit on a regular basis including (from “Mind Wanting More” pg. 43):
But the mind always
wants more than it has—
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; . . .
as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren't enough,
as if joy weren't strewn all around.
The last few poems remind me of the exhale we allow ourselves when it's time to relax and call someplace home.
Thank you for putting these poems and this collection together, Holly. I will enjoy reading it many times and will be recommending that others discover all that it offers.
Christopher J. Jarmick: Poet/writer, and co-owner of BookTree Kirkland's independent bookstore (609 Market Street, Kirkland, WA 98033). He’s author of Not Aloud (MoonPath Press, 2015), and his blog is PoetryIsEverything.