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Verge
The poems in Morgan Lucas Schuldt’s debut collection, Verge, speak at once both brokenly and reparably of the body, of its lusts and devotions, its violences and “satisflictions.” Schuldt’s lyrics exploit the phonetic suppleness of the English language in a way that teases out (mischievously so, earnestly so) an ecstatic, carnal, tender kind of poetics that pays homage–in both name and spirit–to poets like Hopkins, Celan, Crane and Berryman, as well as ekphrastically to painters Francis Bacon, Joan Miro, and Hironymous Bosch.
The Thinking Eye
Jennifer Atkinson’s The Thinking Eye, her fifth collection, looks at the syntax of our living, evolving world, paying close attention to the actual quartz and gnats, the goats and iced-over, onrushing rivers. The poems also look at the looking itself—how places and lives become “landscapes” and the ways the lenses of language, art, ecology, myth, and memory—enlarge and focus our seeing. If it’s true, as Gaston Bachelard says, that whether a poet looks through a telescope or a microscope, [she] sees the same thing, then what Atkinson sees is an earth filled with violence and beauty, human malice and ten thousand separate moments of joy. Clearly in love with the earth and the (English) language—all those inter-dependent lives and forms—Atkinson pays attention to both with a Bishoppy eye, a Hopkinsy ear, and an ecopoet’s conscience. Behind the book’s sharp images and lush music creaks Chernobyl’s rusty Ferris wheel.
Dismantling the Angel
With Dismantling the Angel, Eric Pankey shows once more why he is one of the American poets I admire most. These are such deeply moving, humane, and thoughtful poems.” —KEVIN PRUFER
The Forever Notes
Plato wrote in the Timaeus of time as the moving image of eternity. In Ethel Rackin's THE FOREVER NOTES each of these terms finds resonance: the fleeting objects of the world are moving, and persons moved; her lyric syntax builds pictures that dissolve into song and then turn back to image again; the eternal endures in its endless transformations. "Leaves are for changing" she observes-an insight just as true of the leaves of her book. —SUSAN STEWART
Pilgrimly
"Attentive to telling detail. The metallic bloom of bright silences. Hieratic: Instructions for a vigil. Augury: We could ruminate, luxuriate, and divinate in the language of these exquisite poems. They give the light with their own eyes. There is gold on their tongues. Their words marry, or refer. Lure or long. In the alchemical brilliance of Siobhán Scarry’s stunning debut collection, we walk the page as if the earth, feeling each word a footstep, and each footstep marking our PILGRIMLY progress. How surely the poems move us to their spacious pilgrimage. Offer proof of Presence. Fiery. Cerebrally.” —CYNTHIA HOGUE, author of Or Consequence and Flux
remanence
As Ron Silliman has written, “Attention is all.” The poems in remanence are supremely attentive to the world—or rather to the traces it leaves in our brains. They also make a study of misperception and error. This is a form of meditation. Much of the book is composed of five-line poems, each long line a semi-separate thought, a probe. Each a kind of echolocation. Gently, insistently, they bring us news of our position. —Rae Armantrout | Boyer Rickel’s titles read like names of constellations Leonardo’s man might have inscribed inside his magic circle, each poem mapping points from sources near and far, physical and metaphysical, whose light is just reaching us now on the night sk...
Summoned
The sixteenth of the twenty-five major works of Guillevic published by Gallimard since 1942, Summoned (Requis) represents a pivotal moment in his oeuvre and reaffirms his position as an essential and compelling voice in contemporary poetry. A long poem composed of short, lapidary verse that the poet calls quanta, each in itself a miniature poem, Requis distils familiar themes and motifs of the Guillevician universe within an expanded vision encompassing the outer reaches of space. Within this poetic hurly burly at once totalising and fragmented, arboreal and rhizomatic, cadenced and discontinuous, expansive and condensed, there is a summons to bear witness to the human condition while heeding the injunction of ‘notre toucher/De l’illimité’ that seeks to transgress the boundaries of knowledge, to abolish the dichotomies of presence and absence, motion and stillness, word and silence.
Spool
By turns skeptical and ecstatic, musical and sprung, Spool is a formally adventuresome love poem to marriage, language, parenting and illness in the early 21st century.
The Calling
Midway through The Calling this appears: “I am learning to be two people, as voices are both voices /and the music in them.” There is no contemporary poet more aware of this fact as opportunity than Bruce Bond, whose music, whose severe and certain music, powerfully compels all the voices at his disposal throughout this book—all those journalists, children, and parents whose voicings became the poet’s. The politics of this book is an esthetic as glorious as the politics of the era in which it arises is debased: “I was looking back from a time / where I too would be speechless. / The earth green. No. Greener.” The Calling succeeds in making beauty where there had been pain, which ...
Instances
Alert and streetwise, but tuned into the undercurrent of things, Choi’s poetry creates environments at once familiar but dreamlike, marked by a preternatural clarity. Favoring imagistic condensation and formal trimness, Choi’s poetry possesses a highly-suggestive, allusive intensity that locates the startling within the familiar. Always rooted in the here-and-now, Choi’s speakers are simultaneously outside it, questioning the propriety of our taken-for-granted arrangements. Delicate and wistful, this poetry has the tensile strength to address itself to the deepest challenges of human experience: as Choi writes, with characteristic (and deceptive) off-handedness, “hey abyss.” In a world of inconstancy and ceaseless transformation, Choi’s poetry forgoes easy consolations and instead offers poetry of the highest order as the only consolation. Reading it offers an almost vertiginous sense of the variousness of experience. As Brenda Hillman observes, “There is a quality of imagination in her work that is still a rare thing in poetry.”
