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The Pedestal Magazine > Archives > Issue 56 > Reviews >Tim Kahl's Possessing Yourself

Possessing Yourself
Tim Kahl
CustomWords
ISBN Number: 9781934999585

Reviewer: Janelle Adsit


          “I’m not that good/ at leaving,” the poet notes. “There is always one more clever/ remark to add.” Kahl is clever, yes. And he’s noticeably poor at leaving things behind: The past has a prominent place in his latest collection. Kahl is assaying his history, which is also the history of his brothers, sons, and friends. Possessing Yourself is about reminiscence, and Kahl remembers well. He recalls how “My world radiated out/ and ended ten feet in front of me” in youth. In this collection, the poet has brought back his childhood from an undertaker.

          His personal past is only one of the realms available to Kahl. With references to a wide variety of subjects—from anthropology to geology, physics to animalia to Lutheranism—Kahl exhibits a well-stocked mind. Kahl is a polyglot poet, having translated Portuguese and German works, and his knowledge of languages also shapes the collection. German words such as gurtmuffel and geisterfahrer serve as launching points, as does his fondness for the lesser-known fact.

          Meanwhile, Kahl is at home with the outlandish and the mythical. Among his fanciful tales is “The Three Souls,” a poem that depicts the character soul, who “makes/ a person recognizable”; the death soul, which “lives on in the names and deeds/ of the living” and “gives a man a name/ and history”; and the trickster soul, “who has not yet decided what reality should be.”

          A menagerie of creatures figures prominently in this book: a moth trapped in a hotel, a black widow that appears during spring cleaning, even Sesame Street’s fuzzy, blue Grover. Animals provide the language for explanation. By smudging the distinctions between species, Kahl provides greater clarity. In one instance, Kahl describes his son “coming to the surface to feed on the few memories/ I have sprinkled there.” Kahl explores the migrations of men and geese alike, revisiting the many places that contain his past—Columbus, Denver, Minneapolis, Sacramento, Chicago, Covington, and Canton—and the beings that shared his habitats.

          Among his numerous subjects, philosophy takes a prominent place. The first and title poem of the collection is thick with rumination: “The sheer possibility/ of finding answers strikes me as the closest thing we have/ to the pure thought which needs no further explanation.” But this is not lofty speech. The poet is unpretentious. Rather, he is self-mocking, unabashedly running naked on the backyard Slip ’n Slide. There are no sacrosanct parts of his being, it seems.

          The dedication/subtitle reads “for all those who are genuine fakes.” This issue of authenticity is spun into the collection, most markedly in confused identities. In “Obedience School,” the speaker moves from being a dog in obedience school to realizing “that I am human.” In “Mail Order Doll,” the speaker orders a doll that looks exactly like him; the speaking subject and his doll become interchangeable… almost: “I did not let it use my name/ without first acknowledging to myself/ that we had such different histories.” Such reminders are needed because polyurethane foam becomes indistinguishable from the longing that fills a living person. Of the doll, Kahl continues:

I could discipline and punish it,
pick at its felt skin so that its innards
showed through. And there I would stand,
aged and decrepit, satisfied that I had held
together for so long despite the nagging feeling
of being emptied and the need to atone
for what has been delivered to my door.

          This excerpt, which ends the poem, affirms that skin is penetrable and does not entirely separate one body from another.

          As “Mail Order Doll” shows, Kahl does not shy away from the demanding subject. Unafraid to stare at failure, Kahl investigates adequacy and its link with disappointment. Kahl questions the extent to which “future” is a verb, what actions are possible and necessary, what distant places and things compose a soul.

It is always a flower, a bird, a tree which has reminded us from
those days that we were not chosen to represent Ohio. We were meant
to let its myths work through us so we could be men standing on public
property with our sons on our shoulders, pointing at what was to come
down the river.

          Kahl’s themes are frequently revisited, but they aren’t bludgeoned into the reader’s mind. The themes are weighty, certainly, but the book is not grave. Kahl achieves this result with a light, humorous touch: “…the robin died too. Wild birds don’t appreciate/ the life-sustaining force that flows through/ a garage.”

          The reader must trust Kahl’s wit because the book is somewhat difficult to enter. At first glance, the pages look crammed. It appears that a typical 8.5” x 11” manuscript has been scaled down—rather than typeset— to fit the 6” x 9” page size. Readers can look forward to “Hominid Love Letter,” which provides some relief to the eyes—it is randomly in a different font than the rest of the book. The reader must look past the material book’s flaws and trust Kahl’s invitation to the conceptual. It’s an invitation worth taking.

          Thankfully, Kahl is a master of opening lines that keep one pushing forward. Upon reading “What made me leave Scott Montgomery’s birthday party that day/ was Susan Hanaway’s braids,” one wants to know how something as innocuous as pleated hair can cause action. Kahl’s titles perform likewise: How does a lunch food warrant the name “Headspin Sandwich?” And what is an “exit tamer?”

          Kahl leaves the reader contemplative and gladly off-kilter. Read him for the unexpected comparison: “He knew that exiting was a lot like taming lions/ —one forces a ridiculous invincibility.” Simile after simile come rolling off his tongue: “Susan Haraway and me/ pitting our wills against each other like two little gas spills spreading in/ overlapping circles, waiting for a match.”

          The work is a headlong rush into the impossible task of possessing oneself. Yet Kahl achieves. He provides an unpredictable encounter with every page.
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