Incantation VS Repetition: A Look at “Reclaiming the Crone” by Elizabeth Rosell
Sometimes a poet will repeat a word or phrase and all I can do is roll my eyes. They write “listen” in poem after poem, sharing the same greatest hits, the same quotes, weekly. “Listen” becomes a demand for attention, not an invitation for communion. Repetition becomes a verbal shortcut that loses impact. What a reader (or at least this reader) ends up “hearing” isn’t so much a profound wisdom as it is the ego of the poet who understands the importance of a consistent internet presence, the almighty algorithm, and that perfect sound bite meant for sharing on all platforms.
Sure Joseph, I think to myself, maybe my life isn’t a crime, but if I reposted my own poems that many times I’d want to go to jail.
I much prefer spending time discussing other poets, other poems, the craft of it all, than my own work (which explains why I don’t have a manifesto or an academy, etc.) This all brings me to “Reclaiming the Crone” by Elizabeth Rosell, a magnificent example of repetition done well.
The truth is I love repetition in poetry and song. This Modern Love by Bloc Party has one of my favorite repetitions of all time. When done incorrectly, however, it bores and weighs a piece down. Worst case scenario, it bloats with self-importance (not so much “listen” as “listen to me.”)
When used by Rosell, repetition becomes an incantation, or in her own words, a reclamation. There is purpose and power in the repeated use of the word “crone” much like there is in the use of “cold” in Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays.”
In Hayden’s poem the cold starts off “blueblack,” then is “splintering, breaking,” and eventually “driven out.” In Rosell’s poem we have the first use of the crone as a perception (“that is what the crone does.”) After, we have a judgment (“You know nothing of me, of what it means to be the crone.”) Finally, we have the declaration, a defiant acceptance (“I am the crone—old, yes, but so much more.”) Hayden and Rosell both understand repetition isn’t merely an echo, it isn’t just emphasis, but something that can change. The repeated word should travel and transform, and with it our understanding.
“Reclaiming the Crone” is filled with such repetitions. Variations of child, feared, old, and ugly permeate the piece. With each use, the words are made new through shifts in tone. There is a slight bitterness in the way these words are thrown back as well. I recognize the wound from which repetition can sprout, how we repeat the hurtful things said or thought of us (yes random guy at the gym parking lot, thank you for telling me you don’t like my Ford Escape.) In Rosell’s case, each word reused is a spell, a chant.
Rosell, “Experienced, powerful, and unabashed,” doesn’t just repeat; she empowers. She speaks for more than herself. While some poets dull the effectiveness of a word or phrase with each use, Rosell’s repetitions are a whetstone for words, sharpening their meaning and creating something dangerous, strange, and “so much more” than a poetic trick. This is the real deal.
