Arts & Life

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Written by: Ted Kooser

Published: 22 February 2016

After my mother died, her best friend told me that they were so close that they could sit together in a room for an hour and neither felt she had to say a word.

Here's a fine poem by Dorianne Laux, about that kind of silence. Her most recent book is “The Book of Men” (W.W. Norton & Co., 2012) and she lives in North Carolina.

Enough Music

Sometimes, when we're on a long drive,
and we've talked enough and listened
to enough music and stopped twice,
once to eat, once to see the view,
we fall into this rhythm of silence.
It swings back and forth between us
like a rope over a lake.
Maybe it's what we don't say
that saves us.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation ( www.poetryfoundation.org ), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. They do not accept unsolicited submissions. Poem copyright ©1994 by Dorianne Laux, “Enough Music,” (What We Carry, BOA Editions, 1994). Poem reprinted by permission of Dorianne Laux and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2016 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

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Written by: Tim Riley

Published: 21 February 2016

DEADPOOL (Rated R)

Just when the thought comes to mind that another superhero film from the Marvel Comics universe would be one too many, the sardonic “Deadpool” arrives on the scene with a perverse, conflicted hero to turn the genre completely upside-down.

An unconventionally humorous tone is quickly established during the self-mocking opening credits which set the stage for comic relief. Instead of actor names, we get “hot chick,” “British villain” and “moody teen,” among many others.

The scatological reference to the producers in these credits also suggests the subversive enterprise is truly a team effort, given that Ryan Reynolds, the titular star of “Deadpool,” is also one of the producers. The unnamed director Tim Miller fares no better as “overpaid tool.”

The opening scene is a great setup for the type of mayhem and carnage that Ryan Reynolds’ Deadpool thrives upon when confronting legions of bad guys in pursuit of the film’s ultimate villain, his nemesis Ajax (Ed Skrein), the British architect of a sadistic torture factory.

The collision of vehicles and the intense shootout on a freeway launch the central conceit of the bitter rivalry between Deadpool and Ajax.

It also allows for the introduction of two characters from the X-Men universe that become supporting if not reluctant allies for Deadpool.

Flashbacks soon follow to establish that Reynold’s Deadpool is, in fact, Wade Wilson, a former Special Forces soldier who functions as a mercenary-for-hire and hangs out at Sister Margaret’s Home for Wayward Girls, a clandestine tavern for like-minded operatives.

The owner of the tavern is the wisecracking Weasel (T.J. Miller), who’s also a savvy arms dealer and a good friend to Wade. Ironically, Weasel operates a tote board with a betting pool on the life expectancy of his patrons, which serves to give Wade his new superhero identity.

The backstory reveals that Wade finds the true love of his life in the most unlikely place. Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), a sexy, tough cookie, works in a strip club. A poignant love story follows for Wade and Vanessa, who fall in love because of their flaws, rather than despite them.

Their beautiful romance is cut short when Wade discovers he has terminal cancer, and soon thereafter, he’s approached by an agent of the super-villain Ajax with an offer of a rogue experiment that would leave him with accelerated healing powers and incredible strength.

Aided by his statuesque henchwoman Angel Dust (MMA champion Gina Carano), the sadistic Ajax gleefully tortures with an experimental treatment that leaves Wade so horribly disfigured that he later dons a spandex uniform that could have been taken from Spider-Man’s closet.

At a certain angle, one might look at the unfolding superhero action story, as twisted as it may be given the circumstances, as both a revenge tale and a psychological profile of Deadpool’s resilience to adversity.

Unquestionably, the ultimate goal for Deadpool is vengeance against the evil person who destroyed his personal life. That he’s now living with a blind senior citizen he found on Craigslist is another motivating factor.

Living with his roommate, the sassy, sarcastic and tough Blind Al (Leslie Uggams), Deadpool has not yet reunited with Vanessa, but he’s certainly found himself in an “odd couple” relationship that brings more unexpected comic relief.

Deadpool is a really chatty superhero, such that others can barely get a word in edgewise, because he’s constantly filling silences with lucidly insane wisecracks. His edgy jokes break the proverbial fourth wall.

Even those who align with Deadpool find themselves on the receiving end of caustic remarks. To wit, the X-Men characters that come to his aid for the inevitable climactic showdown with Ajax and his henchmen feel the brunt of his mockery.

But then, the X-Men hardly need ribbing. There’s Colossus (Stefan Kapicic), a towering figure who resembles a metallic Hulk. Deadpool indulges his usual scorn when referring to the buzz-cut sporting Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand) as “Sinead.”

Considering that an unmasked Deadpool’s face looks like a roadmap to hell, or at best a topographical map of Utah, he’s been unwilling to show himself to Vanessa, but the day of reckoning comes with the climactic battle, which pales in comparison to the freeway shootout.

Without a doubt, “Deadpool” is likely the raunchiest of superhero films, and as such, the R rating tilts to the hard side, given the amount of foul language, violence and even casual sex and nudity that fill the big screen.

Nevertheless, “Deadpool” is a lot of fun because Ryan Reynolds is the real deal in delivering an endless stream of sarcastic wisecracks and witticisms. But this is no superhero film for the pre-pubescent crowd drawn to comic book adventures.

Tim Riley writes film and television reviews for Lake County News.

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Written by: Ted Kooser

Published: 15 February 2016

It's said that each of us undergoes gradual change and that every seven years we are essentially a new person.

Here's a poem by Freya Manfred, who lives in Stillwater, Minnesota, about the changes in a long marriage.

Her most recent book is “Speak, Mother,” published by Red Dragonfly Press.

This Stranger, My Husband

The older we get the stranger my husband becomes,
and the less certain I am that I know him.
We used to lie eye to eye, breathing together
in the immensity of each moment.
Lithe and starry-eyed, we could leap fences
even with babies on our backs.

His eyes still dream off
toward something in the distance I can't see;
but now he gazes more zealously,
and leaps into battle with a more certain voice
over politics, religion, or art,
and some old friends won't come to dinner.

The molecules of our bodies spiral off into the stars
on winds of change and chance,
as we welcome the unknown, the incalculable,
the spirit and heart of everything we named and knew so well—
and never truly named, or knew,
but only loved, at last.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation ( www.poetryfoundation.org ), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. They do not accept unsolicited submissions. Introduction copyright © 2016 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.