Exploring the Shadows in Plato’s Cave
‘Tricks of Light’: Poems by Thaddeus Rutkowski
How do we know what we know? When will we be sure? Thaddeus Rutkowski’s Tricks of Light (Great Weather for Media, 2020) explores these questions in over 80 poems.
One theme is human connection. Rutkowski admits to not having many social needs, though he finds it important to keep friendships alive so they don’t dissolve into memories (“Drifting Apart”). He describes becoming an empty nester and having no need to fill the space with a pet (“Empty Nest”) and sometimes wanting to get away from even himself (“Being Alone”). He leans into the subtle distinction of accepting a hug or reciprocating it (“Personal Space”). An animal too, he notes, reacts to the way it is held (“Holding the Chicken”).
Some poems describe a sense of otherness, as when he’s asked if his dental work was done in another country (“Foreign Fillings”), no one has heard of his small hometown (“Where I’m From”), other people of color don’t seem to accept him (“Nothing in Common”), or he’s asked to perform a domestic task on the Jewish Sabbath (“God Will See”).
People’s expectations often conflict, which we experience as participants or as third-person observers. Who’s encroached on whose lane: the motorist or the bicyclist (“Close Call”)? Who’s suffering culture shock: the tourists or the locals (“In the Valley”)? How do we know when we are inhabiting our own words and not merely someone else’s interpretation of them (“Owning My Speech”), especially when a word like “afraid” seems narrow or inadequate (“Compulsion”)?
Loss is more primal than language, as a turtle wordlessly remembers her stolen eggs (“Brief Life”). Almost anything can remind us of a loss, big or small. When we break a glass, we are upset not so much about the glass but about being reminded of something else that has broken (“Glass and Tears”); similarly, the name “mourning dove” is assigned because the bird’s call is a sad sound to our ears, though the bird itself is not sad (“Farmers and Dove”). Such illusory losses can be confusing, and we may have to wait for an answer. Like fishermen, often we don’t know whether we have caught something or nothing at the end of our lines (“Man Fishing”). Words themselves have loss embedded in them, as they are shortcuts to recall what we’ve once known.
Tricks of Light includes musings on money. Rutkowski keeps track of his own pennies and spends them on candy, yet he won’t bend to pick up a penny, an act that somehow feels different to him (“Pennies”). He’s willing to give away money, but he recognizes that someone must first give him money before he can pass it on to someone else, as money flows in a circuit (“When Will I Get Something to Give?”).
And, yes, there are mysteries and tricks: of sound (“Seal Sounds,” “Noise to My Ears,” “Beef Brisket”), of light (“The Speck,” “Lights in Darkness,” “Moon and Airplane”), and of velocity (“View from a Bridge”). Sometimes we do not know whether we are looking at a snail or a wad of gum until we lean in closer (“Mimicry”). This kind of sensory illusion gives the book its title. But the idea of “tricks of light” is also a more general commentary on knowledge. A great deal of what we think we know, whether from direct experience or otherwise, is illusion — shadows on the wall of Plato’s Cave.
Where to find Thad Rutkowski at AWP 2023 in Seattle
Thursday March 9 — Panel Discussion T186: From Catullus to CardiB: Transgressive Texts in the Creative Writing Classroom, 1:45 — 3:00 p.m., Rooms 333–334, Summit Building, Seattle Convention Center, Level 3
Followed by a reading 7–9 p.m. at Couth Buzzard Bookstore, 8310 Greenwood Ave N, Seattle, WA 98103
Friday March 10, book signing, Table 600, Gival Press, 3–5 p.m.
Followed by the Gival Press 25th Anniversary reading, 7–9 p.m. Mayflower Park Hotel, 405 Olive Way, Seattle, WA 98101
Saturday, March 11, book signing, Table T1126, Great Weather for Media, 11 a.m.–1 p.m.
Followed by Rigorous and Unlikely Books reading, 1–4 p.m. Vermillion Art Gallery and Bar, 1508 11th Ave, Seattle, WA 98122
This article was previously published on September 5, 2020 on Bob Lane’s Episyllogism blog, which has gone offline.
