“Are you tired of nature poems,” (49) asks Sue Sinclair in New-Fangled Rose, a collection which positions nature both in opposition and as a companion to science, religion, art, humanity, and, most fascinatingly, language. I was “tired of nature poems,” this longstanding poetic tradition of comparing the self to the landscape, forcing readers to feel guilty about environmental decay. I was pleasantly surprised that these poems were a strong example of eco-poetry that is complex but still fresh and approachable, timeless while still being a particularized snapshot of the present moment.
One of the things that stood out to me as quite innovative, and which added to the collection’s temporal grounding, were the interactive elements in many of the pieces. Some of the poems contain footnotes or subtitles with links to websites or videos or references to other pieces of art. The most prominent example was in “The Black Box Says Goodbye” (35), which includes a link to a website titled Earth’s Black Box, a project I was entirely unfamiliar with which aims to document humanity’s existence in the event of environmental destruction. It felt as though, upon reaching this site, readers are let in on a secret which adds immense complexity to the poem. The line “You didn’t know the apocalypse would be curated” (35) is particularly striking in this context, calling attention to the manufactured and unnatural aspects of this method of preserving a document of human civilization (especially because this project is indeed something readers may not know about going into the poem). The poem also conveys an element of skepticism about this box, emphasized by the inclusion of the link in the very poem itself, a place that traditionally, especially in eco-poetry, it seems as though it wouldn’t belong. These interactive links serve as a reminder of the reality that exists beyond the poems, which constitute “curat[ion]” through their very existence as inherently aesthetic objects.
Some of the language is quite complicated, either scientifically or poetically, and while I sometimes found myself not fully understanding all of the language on its own, I often felt as though that was entirely the point. One example in which this occurred was also, formally, one of my favourite poems, “Aubade: The Bathroom Wall” (14), which seemed to me to invoke and subvert ideas from the 18th-century Irish satirist Johnathan Swift, and was especially interesting because it was written in the longstanding and often forgotten poetic form of the aubade, a poem about the morning. While this poem particularly resonated with me as an English scholar, the poem “Round-Leaf Sundews” (13) left me slightly confused because of its more scientific language. However, despite not completely grasping all the particularities of the poem, the specialized knowledge needed to understand it seemed to propel the conversation between art and science, pointing to the interconnectedness of nature, art, and humanity, and how the poetic aesthetic of these themes, in these and all poems, are ultimately a result of language.
I especially loved “Fool’s Paradise” (40), another piece that reflects on art’s relationship to humanity, nature, and religion and is a great example of the themes at the center of this collection. The poem starts by identifying that it’s “after Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Eden’” from “ca. 1520-30” (40), which is a reminder that the fascination with intertwining humanity and nature is something that has existed in art for hundreds of years. Within the context of this painting, the last stanza is particularly striking:
Adam and Eve had not yet been introduced,
but already the kingdom is corrupt.
From the painting, God looks straight at us
and seems unafraid. It makes me doubt His wisdom. (40)
In calling the earth “corrupt” even without human intervention, and therefore undermining many religious teachings, there is a sense of Sinclair’s poetic bravery; she reveals her unwavering ability to show injustice gently but fiercely, while advocating for the environment without having to explicitly state that she is doing so. The line “it makes me doubt His wisdom” brings attention back to the speaker of the poem, not exactly implicating the reader, but providing a moment where readers can reflect on “God looking straight at us” and how we feel about our involvement in this ecosystem. This is what I love most about this collection; the attention to detail that underscores important themes about environmental preservation while allowing readers to draw their own conclusions through the centering of the speaker’s experience.
Overall, Sue Sinclair has crafted a collection that is intentional, accessible, complex, and incredibly beautiful to read, and which feels important for readers of poetry in this moment.