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magnetgrrl's review against another edition
3.0
Not sure how I came across this slim volume. A book of poems that function thematically as a "how-to" collection of rural farm life and survival, kind of like the Foxfire books, but in poetry form. I like the idea, as a concept, of maybe being able to distill something like "How to Kill a Hog" into a poem so that you could learn it as a kid, like a nursery rhyme, and then maybe if the apocalypse did come you could call up those instructions like song lyrics from the oldies and follow what it says. That's not necessarily how the poems come across, actually though; they're more like actual poetry - not truly instructive, more getting at the emotions through stark imagery. But they're pretty good.
In the forward a quote from Whitman (no further explanation given but I'm assuming Walt Whitman?) is said to tie Socrates to Barthe, which is true, but only from our perspective since obviously Whitman was dead long before Barthe was around. It's an interesting thought, however, that's expressed - that the reader needs to bring to the table something, and do some work - in life, in general, and for this book of poems. "Not the book needs so much to be the complete thing, but the reader of the book does."
I find this fascinating, although not sure how much I agree. Imagine the idea that you come to very book a complete "thing" - just bringing to it who you are, fully formed, superimposing yourself over what's there, interpreting it how you want. I can see that it's inevitable on one level but it's a little bit sad, somehow, too. How can any work get into you, or change you, then? It sounds self-obsessed or masturbatory almost to just dance around your own existing thoughts and issues, merely stirred slightly by the material you're encountering. Maybe it's why most books that really stick with you are ones you encounter when you're less than fully-formed; favorite books of childhood, adolescence, teenage years, college, pivotal moments in life where you're caught with your armor broken.
The poems aim for the reader to be very present even through hard or visceral things. Something I assume would be the very real experience of starting over after an apocalypse or just living a hard farm life. Sometimes they are still too lyrical in that poetic way to do this; it's hard to marry fancy with brutality, wordplay with stark. Most of these poems do an excellent job walking that line. I sort of wish they were more practical, or more sing-song-y, or maybe with more variety in ... I can't call it meter, because these are mostly freeform, but they do sort of follow a pattern of - couplets? - two lines, two lines again, two lines again, and the poem always breaks JUST over onto the next page, but not for long. Odd. I kind of got tired of that by the end, but I suppose they were trying to stick with a theme.
I dislike that this book is just slightly taller than average and skinnier than average. The sizing makes it difficult to shelf with other books, and there seems to be no real reason - the type/layout/sizing could have easily been altered to standardize. The black and white illustrations, just small ink things, between sections, are lovely.
Mainly, reading this has made me remember that it's been ages (far too long) since I've really read poetry and I've clearly lost the ability to write about it articulately. Something to work on I suppose.
In the forward a quote from Whitman (no further explanation given but I'm assuming Walt Whitman?) is said to tie Socrates to Barthe, which is true, but only from our perspective since obviously Whitman was dead long before Barthe was around. It's an interesting thought, however, that's expressed - that the reader needs to bring to the table something, and do some work - in life, in general, and for this book of poems. "Not the book needs so much to be the complete thing, but the reader of the book does."
I find this fascinating, although not sure how much I agree. Imagine the idea that you come to very book a complete "thing" - just bringing to it who you are, fully formed, superimposing yourself over what's there, interpreting it how you want. I can see that it's inevitable on one level but it's a little bit sad, somehow, too. How can any work get into you, or change you, then? It sounds self-obsessed or masturbatory almost to just dance around your own existing thoughts and issues, merely stirred slightly by the material you're encountering. Maybe it's why most books that really stick with you are ones you encounter when you're less than fully-formed; favorite books of childhood, adolescence, teenage years, college, pivotal moments in life where you're caught with your armor broken.
The poems aim for the reader to be very present even through hard or visceral things. Something I assume would be the very real experience of starting over after an apocalypse or just living a hard farm life. Sometimes they are still too lyrical in that poetic way to do this; it's hard to marry fancy with brutality, wordplay with stark. Most of these poems do an excellent job walking that line. I sort of wish they were more practical, or more sing-song-y, or maybe with more variety in ... I can't call it meter, because these are mostly freeform, but they do sort of follow a pattern of - couplets? - two lines, two lines again, two lines again, and the poem always breaks JUST over onto the next page, but not for long. Odd. I kind of got tired of that by the end, but I suppose they were trying to stick with a theme.
I dislike that this book is just slightly taller than average and skinnier than average. The sizing makes it difficult to shelf with other books, and there seems to be no real reason - the type/layout/sizing could have easily been altered to standardize. The black and white illustrations, just small ink things, between sections, are lovely.
Mainly, reading this has made me remember that it's been ages (far too long) since I've really read poetry and I've clearly lost the ability to write about it articulately. Something to work on I suppose.
halisalome's review against another edition
5.0
read this in in my first ever poetry workshop this past semester and i was blown away. there are so many poems in this book that i would read and immediately read again. ("a catalog of what you do not have - enough" fuck me up rebecca!!!!!) rebecca gayle howell really knows how to break a line. that compression! those images! the language! the poem about the pig!!!!!! the one with the italics about light!!!
i let one of my exes borrow this and i'm sad that it is no longer living in the same home as me and i can no longer open it whenever i want to and live inside of the white space and the words.
d, if u see this pls give me my book back mk? leave it in my mailbox.
i let one of my exes borrow this and i'm sad that it is no longer living in the same home as me and i can no longer open it whenever i want to and live inside of the white space and the words.
d, if u see this pls give me my book back mk? leave it in my mailbox.
hannahvwarren's review against another edition
5.0
An astonishing work of lyricism and precision, Howell's Render / An Apocalypse concentrates on memory and trauma. She notes how close we are to slaughter, which lies directly on the other side of a door we've closed. Bloody, visceral, often painful.
"Forget you are an animal
Forget ancient rummaging
pigs wild in their snouts
Forget you ran with them
Wild among trees
Wild in your tree"
"Forget you are an animal
Forget ancient rummaging
pigs wild in their snouts
Forget you ran with them
Wild among trees
Wild in your tree"
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