Hazelyn Aroian on Mark Kessinger’s “Achilles’ Temple”

I love how, right from the title, Kessinger’s work doesn’t shy away from multiple meanings, even and especially when they might be conflicting. A temple is a place of refuge and safety; when I think of a temple, I picture an ornate or awe-inspiring structure that draws believers and tourists alike. However, “temple” is also a word for a soft, vulnerable spot on the face. With the reference to Achilles, Kessinger primes us to expect a dangerous sort of vulnerability; as we read on, it becomes clear that Kessinger’s temple is far from a peaceful place. 

In Kessinger’s temple, thoughts run wild in a seemingly violent way. Phrases like “poisoned bric-a-brac,” “disruptive ping-pongs,” and “kinetically rampant” evoke an oppressive, dangerous restlessness. That the poem concludes with bloodshed and hemorrhage solidifies the fact that the stakes here are high. And yet, semantics and arc aside, I can’t help but notice how fun it is to read Kessinger’s writing. The language is clearly carefully selected; the sound of the poem is rollicking, each line rich with contrasting consonants. To me, this feels playful, maybe even joyful, even as it is violent. I’m intrigued and unsettled by that juxtaposition. Especially given the fact that the poem itself is the result of a process that is partially intellectual, I’m left wondering: can the process of correctly channeling the type of overwhelming mental energy Kessinger articulates ever be renewing? Or is the beauty of the selected language just another alluring distraction?

I’m also intrigued by Kessinger’s use of the first person plural. To me, it reads as an invitation, from poet to reader. I can’t help but read this poem first as a fellow writer: I’m left reflecting on my own process, much of which I am reminded of by the imagery and structure of Kessinger’s poem, whether that’s attempting to tune myself to the “correct” radio waves amidst all the noise of daily life, scrabbling for meaningful images and words among the bric-a-brac, or feeling myself tugged in multiple directions by the pacing and rhythm of a poem-in-progress, perhaps a poem which isn’t sure yet whether it wants to flow like a wave or bounce like a ping-pong ball. However, I love how the first person plural invites all readers in, even readers who may not be writers. 

By forming a link between writer and reader, Kessinger is forming a community. This reminds me of another important distinction between a religious temple and the temple on one’s face: a religious temple is a communal space, one where visitors can congregate and actively share ideas. While thoughts are private, though, thought doesn’t have to be isolating; Kessinger makes the important choice not only to write, but to publish a poem, paving the way for us readers, showing us how we can create a similarly communal space. Is this a way to subvert the sort of violent victimhood and hemorrhage he warns us about? 

Honestly, though, so what if it isn’t? Another thing I love about Kessinger’s poem is it reminds me of the value of committing to something, even given the cost. “[W]e become nosebleeders” and “we fall victim” are unsettling statements, yes, but in the context of Kessinger’s poem, also somewhat inevitable, and there is a certain type of pride in these outcomes, as they come as a result of relinquishing convention and normality. I’m grateful for what Kessinger has achieved in this poem: he has allowed me to reflect on my own commitment to writing, acknowledge the potential dangers, and still feel empowered to proceed, full steam ahead.