Braiding Love and Life: Promises of Gold/Promesas de Oro by José Olivarez, review by Rebecca Samuelson
Sifting through memory can be an arduous task, involving filling in the gaps to make sense of what is to come. Promises of Gold is a collection centered on processing what memory means at different stages of our lives. It grapples with what the individual remembers and the collective fabric that unites communities. Olivarez crafts poems that are, at one moment, dripping with love, then overflowing with anxiety in the midst of the pandemic in the next.
Everything about this collection is meticulous and intentional. Olivarez’s second book is translated by David Ruano González, creating a journey in English or Spanish, depending on which way you hold the book. There is an added layer of accessibility with the dual language text that feels crucial to many of the experiences Olivarez recounts.
The poems are divided into eleven sections to emphasize the notion that life rarely fits neatly into an equal equation. With this odd number, the reader is left searching at the end of the collection for a reason. This is paired with the feelings associated with the title, Promises of Gold. There is a desire to attain something that might be unreachable or might not exist, but the possibility propels the poet and reader forward. If there is a chance to reach something of value, it seems worth pursuing.
In the beginning, the reader immediately looks at the past, thinking about how tradition functions and relates to specific family dynamics. The poems zoom in and out of personal moments to commentary on society with ease with one of the stand-out examples being “Bulls vs. Suns, 1993” (23). On the surface, this poem could just be about the speaker recalling a basketball game with his father. Sports function as a neutral zone for the speaker, but there is a presentation of emotion with a sense of remove. The poem is intrinsically tied to the heart’s actions, beginning with lines 1-3:
sitting on your lap watching your eyes
following the bouncing basketball
& my heart is a hundred basketballs
All of these observations are gathered around a desire to create a more lasting connection. What starts as a casual basketball game viewing becomes an intimate look at a complex relationship as the poem continues. The reader is confronted with a combination of acts of affection and discipline that are carefully placed between jump shots and layups.
This practice of shifting from the big picture to the individual is also accomplished through setting up different environments throughout the collection. Pieces can be location specific at times, but they still capture universal experiences like love, life, and loss. Contemplating the limitations of hindsight and understanding change after time passes can be seen in a poem recounting the weather. In “Cal City Winter” (53), an act of introspection occurs when thinking about cold mornings at the bus stop:
i needed to believe suffering was honorable.
i needed to believe those February mornings
made July’s sunshine silkier. (5-7)
The brevity of this eleven line poem strikes the reader like a cold morning. It calls us to question what other forms of suffering we believed were necessary to get to the next chapter in our lives. With the use of a lowercase “I,” Olivarez gives the reader permission to place themselves in these thought processes even though he is recalling something that is extremely vivid in his own memory.
Recalling these memories also leads to a dominant thread of distance in the collection. Sometimes, it manifests in physical distance apart from family members during the pandemic, and other times, it presents as metaphorical distance between lifetimes. Death and the idea of healing are concepts Olivarez explores in dynamic ways. In “Poetry Is Not Therapy” (56), the impact of distance is summarized beautifully:
the distance between me
& everyone
i’ve lost grows by miles
& years. (16-19)
Thinking about these measurements happens in real-time for the speaker. These thoughts are not in isolation from current events, which allows them to resonate immediately with the reader.
Olivarez does not shy away from the power in choosing words carefully and creating quick snippets. He achieves this by utilizing distinct forms like text messages, prose blocks, or being in conversation with other voices in certain pieces. There is a sense of authority that is felt no matter the length of the piece. This is seen most clearly in “Authenticity” (67). A self-defined “chicano love poem” that is captured in a couplet:
one of my college crushes used to eat hot Cheetos
so smooth, she never got red dust on her fingers. (2-3)
There is a smoothness in this vivid image being crafted so easily in two lines. It also exemplifies the many definitions of love throughout the collection. A crush representing a certain period of time, an iconic snack food, and the intimacy of hands are all captured in succinct lines.
As the reader reaches the final section of the collection, there is still processing to be done. Olivarez never claims to have all the answers and solidifies this stance in “Let’s Get Married” (135-136). Written for a couple on their wedding, beautiful images cascade freely amongst punctuation to create loving reflection. Set for such an important occasion, Olivarez once again highlights the importance of endless discovery:
… marry me: make me (no, not complete),
but a little more alive than i’ve ever been. (31-32)
One person does not fix everything, but they can be alongside you to wade through memories, personal history, and what love means.
Promises of Gold doesn’t arrive at a shiny final destination where all of the world’s problems have dissipated. It is a collection that is able to recount painful memories, a global pandemic, and a vision for the future because it is centered around relationships. It hinges on figuring out where we derive love from and how we use it to make sense of the world.
Promises of Gold by José Olivarez; with a Spanish translation by David Ruano, published by Henry Holt and Company, February 2023. 320 pages.