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4.21 AVERAGE
4.21 AVERAGE
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
the poetry was beautiful AND I found it sometimes hard to follow and it wasn’t a style of poetry I really like
There were some really profound moments and instances of storytelling so I recommend it for people who like complex and engaging poetry :)
There were some really profound moments and instances of storytelling so I recommend it for people who like complex and engaging poetry :)
challenging
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
emotional
reflective
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Sexual violence
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
“The home I’ve been making inside of myself started
with a razing, a brush clearing, the thorn and nettle,
the blackberry bush falling under the bush hog.
Then I rested, a cycle fallow. Said winter. Said the ground
is too cold to break, pony. Said I almost set fire
to it all, lit a match, watched it ghost in the wind.
Came the thaw, came the melting snowpack, the flooded river,
new ground water, the well risen. I stood in the mud field
and called it a pasture. Stood with a needle in my mouth
and called it a song. Everything rushed past my small ears:
whir in the leaves, whir in the wing and the wood. About time
to get a hammer, I thought. About time to get a nail and saw.”
- The moon rose over the bay. I had a lot of feelings.
“We come from abundance, each season
bowed with rain. But here is the earth,
eager to flame, the air like salt, thirsty
even for the water we carry
in our skin. New wanderers in this land,
we do not know how to wait for water,
have never waited so long for rain
that every tree died, left to stand tinder.
For now, I watch the shoulder burn,
drive through the smoke that blots the mountains,
and holds the old yolk of sun. I know nothing
of fire, its reach, its spread, know only
that every body makes its own ash,
manages its own diminishing.”
- Dear- (#2)
“My hand scales each elevation, every
depression, sounds each body of water,
however small, and folds into the river
that runs my palm the smell of your neck,
the animal nuzzle of cheek to cheek,
to keep with me when you are away.
You are away. I hunt your scent, your skin,
practice resurrection in the palm of my hand,
unfold you over the uneven terrain
of my own body in the dark. Where cosmos,
where starless sky, where wind and summer night,
I bend into the arc of you, which is me,
trying to remember your mouth on mine,
your breathing in my ear, my name blowing past.”
- Cartography as an act of remembering
“The bird I drew
much larger than it should have been
because it lived inside of me:
purple head, blue neck, green belly,
bright orange tail.
Imagine a dinosaur living inside
your breast, beating
like a heart where your heart
should be—
I promised I wouldn’t think
of birds, of what hollowed
my chest, of what I tried to let loose
through the small doors of my wrists.
I promised no new doors
into my body.”
- from Partial Hospitalization
with a razing, a brush clearing, the thorn and nettle,
the blackberry bush falling under the bush hog.
Then I rested, a cycle fallow. Said winter. Said the ground
is too cold to break, pony. Said I almost set fire
to it all, lit a match, watched it ghost in the wind.
Came the thaw, came the melting snowpack, the flooded river,
new ground water, the well risen. I stood in the mud field
and called it a pasture. Stood with a needle in my mouth
and called it a song. Everything rushed past my small ears:
whir in the leaves, whir in the wing and the wood. About time
to get a hammer, I thought. About time to get a nail and saw.”
- The moon rose over the bay. I had a lot of feelings.
“We come from abundance, each season
bowed with rain. But here is the earth,
eager to flame, the air like salt, thirsty
even for the water we carry
in our skin. New wanderers in this land,
we do not know how to wait for water,
have never waited so long for rain
that every tree died, left to stand tinder.
For now, I watch the shoulder burn,
drive through the smoke that blots the mountains,
and holds the old yolk of sun. I know nothing
of fire, its reach, its spread, know only
that every body makes its own ash,
manages its own diminishing.”
- Dear- (#2)
“My hand scales each elevation, every
depression, sounds each body of water,
however small, and folds into the river
that runs my palm the smell of your neck,
the animal nuzzle of cheek to cheek,
to keep with me when you are away.
You are away. I hunt your scent, your skin,
practice resurrection in the palm of my hand,
unfold you over the uneven terrain
of my own body in the dark. Where cosmos,
where starless sky, where wind and summer night,
I bend into the arc of you, which is me,
trying to remember your mouth on mine,
your breathing in my ear, my name blowing past.”
- Cartography as an act of remembering
“The bird I drew
much larger than it should have been
because it lived inside of me:
purple head, blue neck, green belly,
bright orange tail.
Imagine a dinosaur living inside
your breast, beating
like a heart where your heart
should be—
I promised I wouldn’t think
of birds, of what hollowed
my chest, of what I tried to let loose
through the small doors of my wrists.
I promised no new doors
into my body.”
- from Partial Hospitalization
Content Warnings
Moderate: Incest, Rape
This book was written by a former poetry professor of mine so I may be a bit biased, but I think it was great. Dr. Kelly carries this melancholic feeling throughout the collection through the way she talks about trauma - specifically sexual abuse and the everlasting effects - as well as love - both beginning and ending. I really appreciated the brutal honesty in which she writes about memory and how it often fails her as she's writing some of these pieces. I recommend giving this a read.
Clarion clear, elegant and sorrowful, triumphant and romantic, vibrantly queer and hopeful.
emotional
reflective
sad
i don't rate poetry, but i know this is well-written because it made me physically ill.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Incest, Pedophilia, Rape, Sexual assault