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httpgeorgie's review against another edition
I don't read an awful lot of modern poetry collections, so I definitely don't regret reading this, even though I don't really think that Betts will make my top favourite poets. 'Shahid Reads His Own Palm' is a collection of poems that all revolve around prison (something that would have made a lot more sense if I'd known that going in - the back of the cover literally doesn't say this. I had to google it), and it's a very striking example of classic lyric poetry: using words as a way to express. The poems all felt incredibly personal and incredibly vulnerable, and as a result, there were a couple where I didn't quite understand what they were supposed to mean, but I didn't feel like I was supposed to - almost like I was prying. Through this collection, I definitely gained a new insight into prison life, which was unexpected but interesting, and there were quite a few poems that I really liked.
lwalla01's review
challenging
dark
reflective
slow-paced
I’m not ranking this book because it reminded me of why I feel I’m not smart enough to read poetry. This is a slow moving book that can’t be consumed in one or two sitting. You definitely have to let the poems settle in for you. Focusing on incarceration, I think there’s a lot to unpack in this collection. I’m not sure I can do the unpacking justice though.
aliciaprettybrowneyereader's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
tense
fast-paced
5.0
This collection left me speechless. The poet writes primarily about incarceration. He takes prison lingo and elevates it to its own art form. He defines the lingo and uses it to illustrate life behind prison walls. In the poem, Dear Augusta, Betts describes the language as one of “survival and blood.”
The poem, Fantasy Girl captures the essence of the collection. The poem is about a prison rape. It is written with intimacy but the reader knows this is a violent act. Rape is a tough subject but Betts skillfully writes this poem. The entire collection is like this poem: tough subjects but excellently written.
jayisreading's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
4.25
Having read Felon and finding it utterly provocative, I was keen on reading some of his earlier works, and it didn’t let me down. Betts explores prison life and survival in this collection, as well as the troubles and slipperiness of time that one is likely to encounter while in prison. I was really taken to the ghazals that Betts used as touchpoints, capturing a beautiful kind of lyricism that differed from the other poems in this collection (though, I should say that they were just as lyrical, but in a different way).
I appreciate how Betts eloquently captures the problems of incarceration in the United States, while incarcerated, and after being let out (as explored in Felon). He brings such a unique and important voice to the poetry world, and I continue to look forward to his future works.
Some favorites: all the poems titled “Ghazal,” “Near Nightfall,” “The Spanish Word for Solitude,” “Two Nightmares,” “And What if Every Cuss Word Was a Sin,” “Ode to a Kite,” “An Opened Vein,” and “The Truth About Four Leaf Clovers”
Read for the Sealey Challenge.
Content Warnings
Minor: Suicide, Self harm, and Rape
xterminal's review
3.0
Reginald Dwayne Betts, Shahid Reads His Own Palm (Alice James Books, 2010)
This was a rollercoaster of a book for me. I started out not really feeling it; Betts is a solid poet, no doubt, and it's fantastic to see a poet using formal verse these days, but (a) one-author collections that deal with one subject throughout tend to sound more obsessive than expressive, and (b) Betts has a fondness for ghazals, a form so painfully artificial that it's next to impossible to get to sound natural. (That Betts never succeeds does not get him points off; I've read books of ghazals by acknowledged masters of the form who've been writing them for decades where not a one has been readable.) They're like the Boston Terriers of poetry; sometimes you can see where they came from, but are so badly mutated now they're only good for taking out and showing off now and again around other enthusiasts.
All of which is going to make the next bit of this review sound entirely hypocritical, and so be it. You're not writing this review, you don't get to make that call, as long as I tell you up front I know how hypocritical it is, right? Because what finally sold me on this volume is another painfully artificial form, but one that's a little easier to do right: the pantoum, a Malay-by-way-of-France form that consists of repeating full lines (ABAB BCBC CDCD … ZAZA). It's still tough, but I've read a lot more workable pantoums than I have ghazals, so I have at least a point of reference. And the one time Betts tries it in here, it's the best poem in the book.
“The cracked walls of cell B8 swore
broken men peeled back tattoos to cry
and some lean shoulders on past highs
after, clank! then yoke followed closed door.
Broken men peeled back tattoos to cry,
touched dirt as some wild man's whore
after, clank! then yoke followed closed door....”
(“A Cell Houses a One-Sided War”)
It's hit-and-miss, and I rush to add that people who can appreciate ghazals for what they are will have a very different opinion on that than I do, but when you get to the last page of this one, you won't regret having given it a go. ***
This was a rollercoaster of a book for me. I started out not really feeling it; Betts is a solid poet, no doubt, and it's fantastic to see a poet using formal verse these days, but (a) one-author collections that deal with one subject throughout tend to sound more obsessive than expressive, and (b) Betts has a fondness for ghazals, a form so painfully artificial that it's next to impossible to get to sound natural. (That Betts never succeeds does not get him points off; I've read books of ghazals by acknowledged masters of the form who've been writing them for decades where not a one has been readable.) They're like the Boston Terriers of poetry; sometimes you can see where they came from, but are so badly mutated now they're only good for taking out and showing off now and again around other enthusiasts.
All of which is going to make the next bit of this review sound entirely hypocritical, and so be it. You're not writing this review, you don't get to make that call, as long as I tell you up front I know how hypocritical it is, right? Because what finally sold me on this volume is another painfully artificial form, but one that's a little easier to do right: the pantoum, a Malay-by-way-of-France form that consists of repeating full lines (ABAB BCBC CDCD … ZAZA). It's still tough, but I've read a lot more workable pantoums than I have ghazals, so I have at least a point of reference. And the one time Betts tries it in here, it's the best poem in the book.
“The cracked walls of cell B8 swore
broken men peeled back tattoos to cry
and some lean shoulders on past highs
after, clank! then yoke followed closed door.
Broken men peeled back tattoos to cry,
touched dirt as some wild man's whore
after, clank! then yoke followed closed door....”
(“A Cell Houses a One-Sided War”)
It's hit-and-miss, and I rush to add that people who can appreciate ghazals for what they are will have a very different opinion on that than I do, but when you get to the last page of this one, you won't regret having given it a go. ***
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