Elvis Presley
The poem “Elvis Dead” captures a moment that lives forever imprinted in the memory of millions of people who were there when it happened. The speaker provides the kind of details of a memory often associated with first hearing the news of greater historical significance: the bombing of Pearl Harbor or the attacks of 9/11. But for tens of millions of people on that August day in 1977, they can also remember details like the poet’s recall of driving a Dodge down Gorge Road when he first heard courtesy of the radio that news that Elvis Presley had died.
“Mrs. Rowley”
From the universally known to the barely known, Wiseman populates his poems with people who are of interest in a moment he wants to record for posterity. One can well understand the reasoning behind a poet about the moment one heard the news of a shocking celebrity death, but what is it about this particular visit from the “old gas-bag” from the grocery that so struck the poet’s desire to catalog memories that he was moved? Surprisingly, perhaps, the final stanzas of the poem reveal that its title character may not really be all that far removed from Elvis.
"Dracula"
Interestingly enough, the title character of this poem does not actually make an appearance in the body of the verse itself. His presence is felt through the idea of Dracula, but as an actual being engaging with the text, he is absent. Instead, the opening stanza paints a portrait of his menace through the familiar imagery and iconography of the novel and the films so the idea of Dracula is made absolutely real as a figure of great evil who inspires terror. And it is on that image that the poem suddenly switches tracks and the speaker rejects even the mere concept that such a powerful supernatural being could possibly be brought to an end by a crucifix or a stake carved of wood.
Mr. Fox
Not, not an actual fox or even Roald Dahl’s fantasy creature, but a 92-year old man whom the speaker meets while enjoying dinner at a hotel overlooking the sea. Mr. Fox’s hands shake and so he is prone to spilling food and in order to not embarrass the other guests, the servers make sure he faces away from the rest of the crowd.
Julia
Julia, about whom the poet oddly describes as “some kind of cousins, you and I” makes more than one appearance in the works of Wiseman. Most notably in “On Julia’s Clothes” which begins as a story about the first time they met when she was a bratty ten-year-old tagalong, but later comes the revelation that her mother found her one day about ten or so years after that initial memory; a day in which Julia had put a shotgun in her mouth.
