On Mangrove by Bill Hollands

by Tyler Truman Julian

The pleasure derived from reading narrative, deeply personal poems rests somewhere between voyeuristic enterprise and intimate dinner date. Sometimes, it is enough to be on the outside looking in, watching drama unfold from a distance; other times, a meaningful relationship is built between reader and poet. The poems in Mangrove by Bill Hollands effectively straddle the gap between these two experiences. Largely narrative, the poems artfully tell stories with humor and emotion without minimizing or shying away from raw or uncomfortable experiences. There’s a familiar voice throughout Mangrove that invites the reader into the personal stories Hollands shares, leaving them feeling as though they have come to know the poet and speaker.

Early in the collection, Hollands embraces metacommentary to alert the reader to his thoughts on poetic storytelling, declaring, “But here’s the great thing about poetry: / you can change the ending” (“Al’s Books and News, Miami”). This statement, though true to the act of writing autobiographical poetry, feels tongue in cheek because as the collection continues, the repeated use of personal emotion and memory—coupled with poetic word choice and turns of phrase—emphasizes the believability and even relatability of the stories being told in Mangrove. “Revision,” a narrative ars poetica, captures this cheeky, yet sincere voice. Hollands writes,

            In college I wrote a poem about my mother.
            This isn’t surprising. Not
            a kind poem—in particular,
            the last word. Such a good word,
            the professor said. Please don’t ask me
            to repeat it here. The other students
            expressed great sympathy for
            the poem’s speaker, a young man
            strikingly similar to myself. The poem
            was accepted for publication
            by the college magazine, of which
            I was the editor, and I presented it
            to my mother for Christmas,
            a proud son indeed. Perhaps nothing

            about this story is surprising, including
            the fact that when the time came
            I found the old magazine
            at the bottom of a box in the back
            of a dark closet. What good
            is poetry? Robert Hass says
            to put the problem in the poem.
            Here’s the problem: I loved my mother.
            I loved my mother, and she is dead.
            I loved my mother, she is dead,
            and I never told her I was sorry.
            There you have it. Yes, of course,

            I’ve revised the poem.
           You wouldn’t even recognize it now.
            Some people say that when a poet
            searches for a poem’s heart
            and cuts a stanza here, a line there,
            even just one word, a shadow remains,
            shadow of what’s no longer there.

“Revision,” like many of the poems in Mangrove, takes on a retrospective point of view, and this distance moves the poems of the collection from early childhood to the present moment, tracking the speaker’s self-actualization and self-acceptance across the daily drama that comes with aging and coming to know oneself. The voice Hollands crafts across the collection pulls the reader into a place of remarkable intimacy.

Hollands’ natural storytelling and humor welcome the reader, but he also points to the universality of his experiences through engaging pop culture references. Frequent references to shows like The Love Boat and Gilligan’s Island offer a foothold in the personal experiences Hollands explores, and other recognizable references orient the reader in time and space. For instance, in “Hi. My Name is Billy Hollands,” the speaker attempts to pinpoint the origin of the otherness he felt growing up, and reminisces over a home video:

            We launch into “Sing, Sing a Song”
          as the camera pulls back to reveal
            two rows of seated students, hunched over
            like birds. Why does everyone look
            so sad? Not me, though, see, there I am,
            top row center, the only one in a
            starched collared shirt, the only one
            really selling it. I nod my head, I sway,
            I smile with my big teeth. I can smell
            the Herbal Essence shampoo on my
            shiny hair. Poor kid. The two boys on
            either side of me catch each other’s eye
            and laugh, they’re in on the joke…

These moments add depth and familiarity to otherwise singular experiences. The reader then comes to relate to the speaker and, by extension, Hollands, in the combination of personal and familiar motifs across the collection.

Mangrove is at times fun, at times emotionally challenging. Hollands’ collection reminds the reader of both the nuance and universality of the human experience. Reading Mangrove is like striking up a conversation with a stranger after one too many beers—all friendship, emotion, and immediate connection. When the reader picks up Mangrove, they won’t only sit in the wings, watching the play unfold, they’ll be immersed in the experience and leave, thinking about it for many days to come.

In case you missed it—check out Bill Hollands’ poem, “Dogs,” in The Shore