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amaniesami's review against another edition
5.0
This lovely book carefully explores what it means to live between two worlds as an Arab-American millennial. The way Rizkallah crafts the most beautiful imagery points to the artistic and sensitive way in which she perceives the world around her:
“I was born an arm with a hand at both ends
taking both lands back at once, like they’re mine.”
I loved the way that she effortlessly interspersed Arabic words, expressions, and cultural signposts in her poems, which feels at times like she is speaking to one who understands, or is writing to herself in an intimate and private way. As someone who knows both languages, it’s a delight to come across this because it mirrors the way a bilingual brain works, meshing the two worlds together in an effort to communicate more holistically. With a doting attention to origin and identity, she invites us to understand the connecting lines between generations, exemplified by the celebration of parents and grandparents, as well as the “Ghada says” segments in the book. I’d like to think that this is the voice of an aunt passing down knowledge and advice that is at times hilarious, and others somber. Poetry in the Arab world is often an oratory practice meant to preserve cultural memory, and in this way Rizkallah adds her voice to the throng of poets that reveal the rich depth of Arab experience.
“I was born an arm with a hand at both ends
taking both lands back at once, like they’re mine.”
I loved the way that she effortlessly interspersed Arabic words, expressions, and cultural signposts in her poems, which feels at times like she is speaking to one who understands, or is writing to herself in an intimate and private way. As someone who knows both languages, it’s a delight to come across this because it mirrors the way a bilingual brain works, meshing the two worlds together in an effort to communicate more holistically. With a doting attention to origin and identity, she invites us to understand the connecting lines between generations, exemplified by the celebration of parents and grandparents, as well as the “Ghada says” segments in the book. I’d like to think that this is the voice of an aunt passing down knowledge and advice that is at times hilarious, and others somber. Poetry in the Arab world is often an oratory practice meant to preserve cultural memory, and in this way Rizkallah adds her voice to the throng of poets that reveal the rich depth of Arab experience.
faloodamooda's review against another edition
5.0
Ahhh her metaphors are always so creative I’m always pleasantly surprised. Also her humour! A delicious read.
i_am_selinam's review against another edition
4.0
Started slow but I liked most of the latter poems by the end!
hilaryreadsbooks's review
4.0
Jess Rizkallah's poetry holds a soft power that grows as you keep reading. She writes on the Lebanese-American experience, tackling topics like cross-generational trauma, violence and oppression against women from both Lebanese men and American men, and sacrifices of our ancestors to bring us to where we are today.
Earlier on my review of THEM Issue I, I read a poem that stated how our very existence is inherently violent and oppressive, as we are here because others who are less privileged are not. Rizkallah reiterates this (we discuss the / the microscopic; / our cavities as excavation sites / for the trauma that isn't ours / but brought us here) but also recognizes that a lot of the suffering are from people that love us and sacrificed so much to get us to where we are today (i ask her how many years it would take to visit each / grave the past filled to bring me here. she tells me / that each day i am here is a flower left at a different stone.).
And thus, in a way, our body and existence is a form of magic. As she writes: i'm alive, and therefore enough.
Earlier on my review of THEM Issue I, I read a poem that stated how our very existence is inherently violent and oppressive, as we are here because others who are less privileged are not. Rizkallah reiterates this (we discuss the / the microscopic; / our cavities as excavation sites / for the trauma that isn't ours / but brought us here) but also recognizes that a lot of the suffering are from people that love us and sacrificed so much to get us to where we are today (i ask her how many years it would take to visit each / grave the past filled to bring me here. she tells me / that each day i am here is a flower left at a different stone.).
And thus, in a way, our body and existence is a form of magic. As she writes: i'm alive, and therefore enough.
jamesflint's review
4.0
so talk to me about language again. tell me about the broken
collecting what it can in the grooves of itself so that
one day it may be more than a tongue.
collecting what it can in the grooves of itself so that
one day it may be more than a tongue.
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