A Review of American Gun, ed. Chris Green — June 20, 2020 by Christopher Nelson
The collaborative long poem that is American Gun grew out of a stark fact: in 2019 there were 2,611 people shot in Chicago. Editor Chris Green asked 100 Chicago poets to participate in the creation of a pantoum, in which each poet writes a four-line stanza. Those familiar with the form know that two lines from each stanza repeat in the following stanza. Relying heavily upon repetition, Green says, “This form mirrors the semi-automatic firing of a weapon and also the seemingly endless cycle of shootings in Chicago.”
The close of a hope and future; born an affliction. What unspeakable folly! The undoing of father, mother, sister, brother. How shall the living keep faith in such a world?
What unspeakable folly! To leave before having been extravagantly kissed. How shall the living keep faith in such a world? How shall we respond to those plucked before dawn?
Written by an impressive range of poets—from well-known, accomplished writers like Tarfia Faizullah, Edward Hirsch, Richard Jones, Haki R. Madhubuti, Ed Roberson, Maureen Seaton, and avery r. young to the high-school students who experience the most gun violence—American Gun is, perhaps most importantly, an act of community. Jackie K. White writes, “when we fall, do we fall silent?” The one hundred voices comprising this poem answer, “No.” True to this act of community, the book is free. The publisher, Big Shoulder Books, asks readers in return to simply support anti-violence organizations in Chicago, and there is a long list of those organizations at the back of the book as well as a study guide for teachers who want to read and discuss the poemin the classroom.
With its 100 stanzas, American Gun brings to mind the renga, a Japanese form whose name means “linked poem.” Renga poets take turns writing two- and three-line stanzas until they reach the 100th. Like the renga, this pantoum is decentralized and favors no author over another; no author directs more than another, and none knows exactly where the poem is going. Like a choir each poet contributes their singular voice for the greater song, and often the singing is lamentation:
look over yo shoulder takya(s) deep dimple(s) disappear in de plush & pink of her casket yes dis really happen(d) her classmate(s) unravelin in pew(s) confirm(s) her absence on monday morning [ & ever mo(re) ]
Takya’s deep dimples disappear in the plush, pink casket, satin bright as the girlhood lost before it fully began. Classmates unraveled confirm her absence on Monday and ever more, a loose thread torn from the rest of their fabric.
In addition to the haunting long poem and the visionary editorial work, the book design by Natalie Bontumasi is powerful, a sort of visual poem by itself. Black pages and black margins add contrast and disrupt the static of the white page, horizontal and vertical text enhance this visual dynamism, and occasional red spots on the early pages proliferate so that by the end of the book the reader is holding—the graphics suggest—a bloodied text.
In his introduction, editor Chris Green writes, “When politics fail us, poetry tells us we are not alone in our outrage and hope,” and the noble mission of Big Shoulder Books and the solidarity exhibited in American Gun do give hope. The poem, however, is harrowingly free of illusions. Amid the polished and professional voices in the book, the last two writers are teenagers Eric Owens and James Lofton, who bring the fire, flair, and rhyme characteristic of rap lyrics:
Tried to go to the police and start singing Dropped out of school start slinging He went to jail and turned to the beast There are guns in the streets, there will never be peace
A reader closes the book, but the cadences of song, echoes of gunfire, and images of grief and perseverance continue to play in the mind. American Gun is an anthology that writers, editors, and publishers should emulate, for only by coming together with a shared vision and voice will we heal.
