I kiss a muzzle and it blossoms.” When we reach the end of “Trigger Guard,” ultimately, the transformed “muzzle” of line 28 is linked back to the gun as a destructive force: ” In the music video version, / a gun turns into a mouth.”
Perhaps more interesting than my analysis of “Trigger Guard” would be the poet’s own thoughts on her work. And so most happily, I was able to ask Ms. Fuhrman a few questions about “Trigger Guard,”and she kindly provided answers.
MALONE: Is “Trigger Guard” based on a dream you had?
FUHRMAN: Yes, the first image came from a dream. I’m impressed that you guessed that!
MALONE: Did the title of the poem immediately suggest itself, or did you need some time to decide on it?
FUHRMAN: The title came after the rest of the poem was finished. I don’t think I even knew what a trigger guard was. (I’m a stereotypical city gal.) I decided to look up the names of the parts of guns online for a title idea, and saw that term and thought it was a good metaphor for what the poem enacts. So it was a lucky discovery.
MALONE: The tone of “Trigger Guard” becomes playful at times: “In the Chekhov version, /(well, you already know.)” and “In the Langpo version. / idolatry yips yaps paradigm the.” But firearms are rarely associated with wit. Do you think poetry in the 21st century can still be inventive?
FUHRMAN: Yes, I think poetry needs to be inventive to be poetry. What else does poetry do but continually reinvent language and our perception of the world? If I’m not surprised by poetry, I’m not terribly interested.
MALONE: Is your aesthetic influenced by any one poet or school of thought?
FUHRMAN: Yes, most obviously and deeply the New York School and Surrealism. “Trigger Guard” strikes me as a blatant—or should I say obvious—tribute to Kenneth Koch’s playful re-imaginings and cubist jokes, but it could also be said to be in the tradition of Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.”
Trigger Guard
by Joanna Fuhrman
Everyone I ever loved is standing
on a platform with a gun.
In the cartoon version, a flag pops
with the word ‘bang.’
In the soap opera version,
my face turns the color of merlot.
In the haiku version,
metal gleams in the narrow shadow.
In the Republican version,
two guns wrap themselves in a single flag.
In the Langpo version.
idolatry yips yaps paradigm the.
In my diary version,
I wonder why everyone hates me.
In the indie film version,
a gun flickers over a mumbled tune.
In the Chekhov version,
(well, you already know.)
In the 10 o’clock news version,
the crisis in violence is rising.
In the action film version,
a shot means profits are rolling.
In the catalog version,
the smoke’s hue is a burnished moss.
In the teen movie version,
a nerdy gun removes her glasses.
In the lucid dream version,
I kiss a muzzle and it blossoms.
In the music video version,
a gun turns into a mouth.
Copyright © 2010 by Joanna Fuhrman. Used with permission of the author.