Anyone familiar with Lawrence Durrell knows he loved his liquids.\u00a0 He swam frequently at his favorite haunts by the sea and couldn’t resist an evening with friends imbibing wine and other spirits and engaging in sparkling, wide-ranging conversation.\u00a0 Whatever faults Durrell may have had as a lover or parent, he had a gift for friendship, a reminder that drinking together with companions is a fundamentally convivial activity, a species-defining pastime that connects us with other humans.<\/p>\n
That social context not surprisingly informs this year’s White Mice Contest, whose theme was “Drink.”\u00a0 Stephen J. Kudless’ first prize-winning poem, “The Color Hazel,” details the devastating consequences of alcoholic consumption outside the amiable community of friends, a social isolation that becomes escapist, abusive, and ultimately self-destroying.\u00a0 Kudless’ poem is told from the point of view of the child who shares the same eyes as his father but sees far more of the fearsome repercussions of his father’s addiction and violence.<\/p>\n
John Davis’ “What We Swallowed,” winner of the second prize, captures the intoxication of (male) friends drinking together just after finishing work at the factory.\u00a0 They drive home together still consumed by fatigue but then witness “a sudden full moon” that inhabits them all like “a beautiful woman” with “silver silence.”\u00a0 It becomes a transformative moment for the exhausted workers who, assisted by beer and camaraderie, encounter the transcendent.<\/p>\n
Dr. Anthony Hirst’s “Lunch on Poros,” singled out for honorable mention, likewise is situated in a less-than-promising environment, this time a seafront restaurant with “prints of ships [that] have wrinkled in their frames.”\u00a0 “The chicken’s roasted to destruction,” yet “the kindly wine will soften, \/ for a while, the day’s metallic edge.”\u00a0 Here the transformation is quiet yet palpable, aided by the service of spirits delivered and consumed in a social milieu.<\/p>\n
Katharyn Howd Machan’s “Drinking Much Wine from the Glass My Ex-Lover,” another honorable mention winner, takes a more personal approach, linking romance and disruption with the speaker’s teaching of young students.\u00a0 Hers is a poem about love not saved by convivial drinking but illuminated and partially redeemed by insistent questioning.\u00a0 The poet’s enquiries are passed on to her students and readers “like fruit \/ too ripe to handle.”<\/p>\n
These poems remind us how deep, rich, and multi-faceted our drinking culture is.\u00a0 Interestingly, none of the entries this year focused on water, that liquor of life we all must have to survive, whether consumed alone or with others.\u00a0 Alcohol, in all its manifestations, opens doors to the human psyche, the deep desires, secret failures, and self-destructive impulses we all strive to keep at bay.\u00a0 Spirits also open us, at best, to the world of imagination and transformation, where we leave constraints behind and sail toward other shores.\u00a0 Nothing could be more Durrellian.\u00a0 We can be grateful to these poets for reminding us of the luminous landscapes of slaking and thirst.<\/p>\n
David Radavich<\/p>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n Stephen J. Kudless<\/p>\n Stephen J. Kudless is a poet and playwright whose work has been published widely.\u00a0 Two of his plays, Beds<\/em> and How Fish Breathe<\/em>, were staged Off-Off-Broadway, and Killing Time: What We Do<\/em> was a finalist for the Tennessee Williams prize in 2011.\u00a0 His poetry has been published in journals both small and large.\u00a0 He retired from the English Department at Touro College in 2012 and resides in New York City.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n eased-down a moment of grace we drank and felt the earth’s river enfold us. Driving home, we drank the air of AM radio, of concrete and cranes, of backfiring semis, inhabited by a beautiful woman.\u00a0 We did John Davis<\/p>\n John Davis is the author of Gigs<\/em> and The Reservist<\/em>.\u00a0 His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review<\/em>, Iron Horse Review<\/em>, Passager<\/em>, and Rio Grande Review<\/em>.\u00a0 He lives in Bainbridge Island, Washington.<\/p>\nFirst Prize<\/h2>\n
The Color Hazel<\/h3>\n
Never-minding anything else.
Of course, there was nothing else, only his reeling up the avenue,
Reeking, full of fury, to home and the abuse he would mete out.
The list of his virtues is short\u2014None.
He fought, stole, cheated, lied, abused, and although it took forever, died.
One said he took a turn for Mary, his “middle girl.”
There is no confirming this though as Mary “can’t recall.”
Mary, beautiful dark-haired Mary,
Her life a catalogue of spinal taps, electro-shocks, restraints,
Escapes, returns, and howls in the night.
Did he put his hand, that ham of a hand, on her?
She “can’t recall,” so there is no use in that.
Once when he was roaring,
Cowering behind my mother, his “oldest child,”
I caught his eyes and he mine.\u00a0 He smiled at me.
\nLater, when I understood “hazel,”
I learned that those of his were “hazel.”
Mine are hazel.This list of his virtues is short, yes. None.
Can I construct one?
Was he charitable? No.
Was he courageous? Nah.
Was he trustworthy? A foolish thought.
Was he gentle? Never.So, like the others, what I say is that
“He had ‘the thirst.'”He had the thirst and had hazel eyes.<\/div>\n
\nSecond Prize<\/h2>\n
What We Swallowed<\/h3>\n
\na six-pack, held the cold to our heads,
\npopped open a beer in the parking lot,<\/div>\n
\nwhile traffic rushed by like dark water
\nunder a bridge.\u00a0 Our necks drenched with sweat,<\/p>\n
\nThe factory saws and sanders disappeared forever
\nWhen forever was breath without a timeclock.<\/p>\n
\nour fingers too numb from stacking doors
\nto change the station.\u00a0 We drank the night landscape<\/p>\n
\nof power line poles and then the sudden
\nfull moon.\u00a0 Our voices quieted like we had been<\/p>\n
\nnothing bur stare open-mouthed, listen
\nand drink-in her silver silence.<\/p>\n
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