The Poetry of Stephanie Trenchard
As I explained in a previous article, one of my goals for this Substack is to shine a spotlight on writers who may have been published in a small number of literary journals but are not well known in online literary circles. As the title suggests, in this article, I will be talking about Stephanie Trenchard, an artist and writer based out of Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin.
According to her personal and business websites, Trenchard and her husband own a fine art gallery where they exhibit their “glass cast sculpture and murrini blown glass, as well as oil paintings, jewelry, pendant lights and gift items.” Above is an example of her glass cast sculpture work, a piece called “Luna Walking,” which was commissioned in 2018 as part of an annual fundraiser of local artists.
In an interview about this piece, Trenchard talks about her intentions with her art, stating, “Because my work is narrative I always aspire to communicate the story of a piece to the viewer. Even when the stories are specific they usually also offer a metaphor for an aspect of the human condition. It is through story that we can all have compassion and through stories that we can begin to understand our own experience.” Though she is referring to her visual art here, I think this perspective can also be applied to her writing, as her poetry often seems to be narrative as well.
Trenchard’s Poetry
I first discovered Trenchard’s writing through the online literary journal The Write Launch, an outlet that has consistently worked to publish emerging and lesser known writers and artists for several years now. Trenchard has published six poems in The Write Launch.
Here is the full text of one of those poems, titled “Cycling”:
On the ride to work I try to remember; did I make my bed? —Wonder if I love myself, wonder if I care about my children's children Wonder where every plastic bottle went—each one I have sucked from and sent on its journey, perhaps to landfill, and What does that pile look like, smells like or will it float in a wave of other debris. Will it find friends, community of like numbers Will it find love and rebirth becoming another vessel or object holding another liquid—maybe bubble bath, maybe a cleanser, dumbing-down to a lower level product, a toxic brew even further from intimacy or a body I wonder about the glass jars, how they shatter into shards & become sea glass, or a glimmer in cement, endlessly reflecting or be swallowed by cows on the roadside, or melted into a molten mass to be blown with lips into bottles for other lips, feeding those to come. And I still wonder if I have made my bed.
I’m always pulled in by poems in which the title references the literal action of the poem while also offering other deeper meanings as you read through the rest of the piece. In “Cycling,” the speaker seems to be literally riding a bicycle to work while also “cycling” through a stream of thoughts in quick progression. Additionally, the poem begins and ends with the same idea, creating a cyclical structure that echoes the title.
Something else that interests me right away in a piece of writing is specific detail that I can see. In the first line, I can see the speaker “[o]n the ride to work,” and I can see them thinking about whether or not they’ve made the bed. It’s such a simple line, but it’s clear and relatable. Trenchard then shifts into another relatable but unexpected statement (‘Wonder if I love myself’), then to a more specific but still unexpected statement (‘wonder if I care about my children’s children’). All of these feel like real thoughts, reminiscent of the way our minds will freely flit from topic to topic while our bodies are otherwise engaged.
My favorite part of this poem is Trenchard’s list of all that can come from the glass jars. Again, she uses specific details to let the reader see these items rather than just stating that the glass could become many things. The last few stanzas also include a good amount of alliteration (the same letter or sound at the start of words that are near each other) and sibilance (the soft ‘hissing’ sound created by the repeated use of ‘s’ and ‘th’), which delights me both as a reader and writer. Finally, the line “melted into a molten mass to be blown with lips into bottles for other lips” is particularly enjoyable for two reasons: it refers back to a line in the second stanza (further encouraging the poem’s cyclical structure) and, knowing Trenchard’s skill at blown glass art, it feels like an action the speaker has genuine familiarity with.
Another of her poems I really enjoyed is one titled “Waiting at the Women’s Health Centre.”
Here is the full text of that poem:
The word change is cut into a round river stone, set on the carpet in the changing room. A mammogram, like a telegram, like a cuneiform, is a message. The rock is under a table that holds two woven baskets of swabs, one with deodorant, the other with deodorant removal. I remove my sweater, shirt, and bra, then slip into a half-gown, the shade of institutional green, yellowish, and bright, like over-watered grass I leave on my jeans and boots in what feels like an obscene combination of dress and undress. While waiting for the technician, I consider the oracle nature of the stone: Substitute one thing for another My scan shows no cancer But I hear the message: Now you are alive so get going, this is your time.
The title does the work of telling us where we are, so when the speaker references a mammogram, we immediately understand that she’s probably waiting for her results. Trenchard begins the poem with the word (and concept of) “change,” which is “cut / into a round river stone.” This detail, so close to the reveal of the mammogram, casts a “suspended” tone over the poem, as change on its own is not necessarily a bad thing, but the type of change noted in a mammogram often is. The fact that this word is “cut into” the stone also brings to mind something that is forced upon an object, a surface, or a person, like a mastectomy, or the emotional laceration of a new medical diagnosis.
Similar to “Cycling,” Trenchard relies on her details to imply the poem’s tone and theme. Instead of telling the reader outright the speaker’s fear or worry, she allows her details to do this for her—the result of this is a poem that creates an experience for the reader rather than simply giving them a summary of thoughts or ideas.
Even though we learn that the speaker’s “scan shows no cancer,” we, too, feel the weight of the waiting, and we “hear the message” along with the speaker—“Now / you are alive so get going, / this is your time.” I think many of the most powerful poems function as a reminder that we are alive and still have much we can do. Trenchard’s work, whether her writing or her visual art, seems to exemplify this, and I would highly recommend taking a look at it.
Beyond these two poems, Trenchard has a handful of others available online, some of which can be accessed through The Write Launch links provided as well as in Black Fox Literary Magazine, The Closed Eye Open, Writers.com, and Bright Flash Literary Review. Her visual art can be found (and purchased) here and here.