Poems
of Parenting. By Loryn Brantz.
William Morrow. $19.99.
All children are different, all parents are different, but somehow, some
of the time, in some ways, all parenting is the same. Loryn Brantz not only
figures this out but also has the talent, both verbal and representational, to
bring the insights of commonality to the world at large. Hence we have Poems of Parenting, a charming little
written-and-drawn journey through some not-always-charming elements of parenthood.
And many that are charming. And some
that are definitely worth thinking about but are not thought about very often,
such as the realization, while breastfeeding, that “this will be a fully grown
adult someday” and that fact is “REALLY REALLY REALLY WEIRD,” illustrated with
a full-grown adult curled happily on the lap of a suitably bemused-looking
woman.
Brantz is particularly good at bemusement, a kind of second cousin of
amusement (she is particularly good at that, too). For example, the exuberance
of the illustration for “Mom Joy” (a state of affairs including “Solve big
problems” and “Do nothing”) is neatly complemented by the picture for “Splash,”
which shows the all-too-common everyday event occasioned by the words “Like a
moth/ to a flame/ Baby hand/ to my cup” (actually a glass, whose
ice-cube-cooled drink is about to be everywhere except in the glass). Most words of most poems drift around the
page, although some longer ones are laid out more traditionally, line by line –
while some entries are barely poems at all, containing as few as three words:
“Fat. Baby. Hands.” (The half-dozen chubby little human paws spread across two
pages are the point here.)
Parenting does not, by any means, stop when children are babies, so
neither, of course, does Brantz’s book. As squishy little infants grow into
mobility, Brantz provides guides to such episodes of everyday life as “Warm
Jammies” and how it feels to experience the insertion of a little one into them
(“If a rabid raccoon/ was dipped in oil/ And I had to dress it/ in a
three-piece suit”). Again and again, Brantz juxtaposes the internal joys of
being a parent with the external, mundane, often maddening quotidian duties of
parenthood involving matters both big and small (mostly small). Thus, her poem
about trimming baby’s “sweet tiny nails” concludes, “Damn/ this is/ A lot of
work.” Indeed, she notes elsewhere that babies are in effect in charge of
things, parents do all the work, and the result is “the cutest tyranny,” in
which an adult who must gather all the detritus of babyhood becomes in essence
a “Beautiful/ Walking human/ trash bin.”
By the time Brantz gets to kids’ toddler stage, she is referring to them
as “tiny bestie” and “spicy little nugget,” and the reality is that they are
both, all the time. And as amusing as many of her observations are, this is the
place in the book where Brantz pauses for some sincere First World
thoughtfulness: “How lucky am I/ That we have so much” and “How lucky am I/
That we have a place to sleep” and “How lucky am I/ I can’t believe what good
fortune we have.” The overt sentimentality does not last long – Brantz quickly
reverts to amusingly-juxtaposed-opposites mode – but it is worth bearing in
mind for every reader’s individual-yet-common parental journey. Indeed, “You’re
living/ The poetry/ Of/ Parenting,” Brantz reminds readers directly. That
poetry sometimes encapsulates reality in just a few words, sometimes sprawls
across two pages, sometimes curses, sometimes indulges in bathroom breaks and
doomscrolling, and sometimes invents entirely new concepts that seem to have
age-old resonance – such as the discovery that something even worse than the
Terrible Twos is possible when a child becomes a “threenager.” Throughout all
this amazing everyday life, Brantz celebrates traditional man-woman-children
families in a 21st-century urban environment, even as she offers
thoughts to which parents in many other times and places can relate – such as
the journey from staying up all night “buzzed on new love” to staying up all
night “Because our children/ Are trying to kill us/ By sleep deprivation.”
“The days are long/ But the weeks are also long,” writes Brantz in one of her small, semi-precious poetic gems, concluding this particular bit of blank verse by saying, “It’s not always easy/ But it’s always hard.” And there you have the central message of Poems of Parenting, provided you do your best to add, in your own mind, the words “And it’s always worthwhile.”
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