Williams's ability to decipher ordinary, everyday topics in poetic
language is what makes her distinctly contemporary. Critics of contemporary poetry say it has no
rhythm, and some claim that free verse is merely prose broken up strangely on a page—the
opening poem of The Sad Anthropologist,The Mortal Coil, a partly found poem, is an unfortunate example of
this—but Invisible Tattoos disputes this notion and challenges the reader to find its internal rhythms. The collection triumphs in its refreshing accessibility, the beauty of its form and in Williams's decision to expand her repertoire with cognate topics that somehow suit the overall feeling of the collection.
Some poets find their strength in rhyme, some in set
stanzas, form and meter, but Williams's strength lies in the very meat of her
language, her fresh metaphors, the images and motifs used to convey
ideas and feelings that make the reader wonder, 'how did I never think of that
before?' Her topics are wide-ranging—the revisitations of her trademark,
meditations on Medellin, the frustrations of being childfree, the inability
to feel happiness for older men with younger women, and even meeting
bodybuilders on a plane.
As a concept, Invisible
Tattoos was inspired by the desire to get a tattoo, says Williams, in the
title poem, but hesitating before pain
and commitment / I gave it a frame / a poem / a whole book… The pen wrestles
the needle / for the ink. The
concept of invisible tattoos is a potent one, but the title poem itself is one
of the weakest in the volume, despite the strength of its ending. Perhaps it begins on a bad note—the first
line, If I was to have one / this is the
one I would have—contains improper use of the subjunctive and is
off-putting, at least for those of a pedantic nature. Even as a deliberate decision, it manages to be jarring, alerting the reader to be more critical of the poem. While lines like 'The heart flies / the wings beat
/ the burden makes the bearer strong' are technically fine, they can also evoke
an unwanted cringe, which is all the more uncomfortable when one distinctly wants the collection to succeed. It's odd to want to suggest that the title poem might've been tighter, that it, like
many a title song on an album, is strangely dissatisfying, but thankfully, it is one of few
low points in the volume.
Williams manages to retain freshness even in revisiting
the feeling that ricochets throughout the volume—I’m getting too old for this—partly with the use of that old
chestnut, hindsight. Hindsight is the
vehicle driving the poem
Full Circle, in which Williams muses on another
familiar topic—ballet dancers (Ballet
Girls appeared in The Sad
Anthropologist, for example). Where earlier poems on ballet had shown
Williams as regretful and nostalgic,
Full Circle brings her closer to acceptance and
relief.
