The Italian Professor’s Wife by Ann Pedone

Candle-Ends: Reviews
Shelley Carpenter


The Italian Professor’s Wife by Ann Pedone

Intimacy is at the heart of Ann Pedone’s compelling poetry collection, The Italian Professor’s Wife (Press 53, 2022), a narrative, lyrical love triangle between three characters occurring during an extended holiday in Italy. Two are married and are named on the cover. The third character remains a mystery. Interestingly, they are nameless, described in third-person pronouns with the exception of one reference throughout the poems. The poems seem timeless, centered around ordinary people—perhaps on a second honeymoon tour—but this changes abruptly when they arrive in Rome. A subtle transformation occurs. One of them wanders and the other is consumed by it.

We must have been very lonely
people to have done this to each other. (27)

One of the nuances of the collection is how it captures the idea of living in multispace dimensions that are tangible as well as temporal. This is seen in public and private spaces of restaurants, train stations, cafes, and hotels. The in-between places that mark a journey as well as invisible breaks in time and action happening off the pages.  I really enjoy this. Wondering what the characters are doing and what they will do next. A reader’s wonder-lust. Likewise, there is an atmospheric tone that soon becomes apparent. There is isolation and longing. A loneliness that borders despair. I am reminded of the twentieth-century New York artist, Edward Hopper. Many of his figurative paintings show couples in such places and spaces, some of which have an added dimension of being observed from the other side of a glass window outside an urban diner, or through sunny windows that contrast the figures. Pedone does this, too, with her vivid prose and structure. The reader is there.

Keeping with this idea, the poems are also juxtaposed to another equally interesting and clinical first-person plural narration titled “The Continuity Script” ordered in Roman numeral numbered “scenes” that read like stage directions in a play, a dramatic element from which the reader sees the subjects from a different vantage point. Complementary. They are read in tangent. One poem is in the point of view of the nameless wife, then what seems to be a different speaker is observing her like an omniscient private detective reading aloud from his little notebook straight out of a noir film or novel.

SCENE IX

We see the wife going down in the elevator

We see the wife sit at a small table in the hotel bar

We see the wife order a glass of wine

We see the wife look down to the end of the bar

The husband is sitting next to a woman

The wife watches them

Light fills all of the openings in the room

The wife can see that the woman is beautiful. (29)

What’s more, Pedone’s thoughtful stanzas often read much like a laundry list. The speaker ticking off her day. No punctuation. Short line breaks. A run-on sentence containing a runaway list of actions and items.

Stripped the bed found
the train tickets tried
calling my sister picked up
his pants from
the bathroom floor reached
into the front left
pocket and while he
wasn’t looking
held my breath and pulled
the lining all
the way out. (4)

Likewise, Pedone is selective in her vocabulary, slowly and seductively showing a marriage in various angles and in unwritten prose. Missing punctuation and white space heighten the tension that is grinding between these characters. Glamorous and provocative.

The diary-style short narratives from the wife’s very intimate point of view adds to this idea. Many begin with routine remembrances leading to something else smoldering beyond surfaces.

Feb. 29th

The maid left a stack of new towels on
Top of the TV

Three Turkish men have been arguing
In the hallway since lunch

While I was brushing my teeth this morning
he came out of the shower and
wrote something
on the bathroom mirror

I left the door unlocked when
we got into bed

And drained all the
milk from between my thighs. (28)

A lot is happening in this small remarkable volume filled with white space, erotica, and innuendo. Small movements and motions. A look, a word—hold couplets of meaning.  Each poem is a chapter in the lives of these two people traveling across Italy though springtime and ending in a railway station in Palermo.

*

Ann Pedone is a poet and literary translator in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is the author of The Medea Notebooks (Etruscan Press, Spring 2023), and The Italian Professor’s Wife (Press 53, 2022), as well as the chapbooks: The Bird Happened, perhaps there is a sky we don’t know: a re-imagining of sappho, Everywhere You Put Your Mouth, Sea [break], and DREAM/WORK. Her work has recently appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Narrative, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Louisville Review, Gigantic Sequins, Conduit, and Toasted Cheese.

pencilShelley Carpenter is TC’s Reviews Editor. Email: reviews[at]toasted-cheese.com

a brief history of my pubic hair

Poetry
Ann Pedone


Photo Credit: Steve/Flickr (CC-by-nc)

I.

I wanted him to want me more than
his ex I wanted him to keep fucking me maybe even
marry me so I ignored the voices of Gloria Stein
em and Judith Butler in my head and I
did it agreed to be waxed shaved smoothed
plucked and aloe
veraed I spread eagled myself on a table in a strip mall wax
ing center and opened my legs spread my legs held my legs
high behind my head and opened, when asked to, like a butter
fly

I told him it looked liked a drowned rat or a twelve
year old girl I told him I felt like a porn star at least from the
waist down but every month I called in my appoint
ment every month requested the one waxer who made me
feel a bit less uncomfort
able 18 appointments over 18 months until he
left me

my friends scolded me called me a stooge for the patri
archy questioned my feminist loyalties and asked me
how after twelve years of French post-structural post
colonial post-modern critical theory in grad school I could have
done such a thing I felt humiliated duped be
littled like I had succumbed to some
thing that I had vowed to
fight against

II.

six months later in a hotel room some
where on the mid-Peninsula my new boy friend my current
boyfriend asked me if I had ever seen the Courbet painting L’Origine
du monde

full-on center lies a woman stretched out on white
sheets naked mid-thigh to breasts legs open revealing a thing so
weirdly dark so lush and thick almost
irrational in its openness almost
obscene in its mystery so wild with possi
bility that you can’t take your eyes off
of it
right then and there I decided to
let it grow

over the following months I watched it monitored
its progress like a baby’s first steps washed and
dried it after every shower bought pairs of see
through panties so he could see the newly
sprouted hairs peeking through but I was nervous
what was he going to think would he
hate it ask me to shave it off leave me for some
one else

surprisingly it came in curlier than I
remembered looked blonde almost
in the sun light shimmered
like gold dust in the shower
and now it dances
when he is
on top of me
blooms when our bodies meet
is shy when he falls
asleep retains the
deep cypress scent of his skin
alive insatiate
a dark amber dark in the full
watery gathering that is my body

pencil

Ann Pedone is an independent scholar and writer who graduated from Bard College with a degree in English Literature. She has a Master’s degree in Chinese Language and Literature from UC Berkeley. Ann is the author of the chapbook The Bird Happened. More recently her work has recently appeared in Ornery Quarterly, Riggwelter, Main Street Rag, Poet head, and Cathexis Northwest, and The Wax Paper, among others. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Email: ann.pedone[at]gmail.com