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pturnbull's review
5.0
When I opened "kyrie eleison or all robins taken out of context" I was thrust into a surrealistic world in which I could not quite get my bearings. There were bombs, spines, skulls, skies full of bizarre lights. The first line of the opening (and title) poem identifies the collection's theme: "yes I am that old trombonist who sees death / dangling in every bird." Mukhopadhyay's language includes odd juxtapositions. Sometimes he separates clauses with a slanted line. His images are rapid-fire, beautiful, creative, but shattered, harsh, such as: "theoretical tulips blubbing inside a cylindrical / museum of war," "starry night traveling past a mortuary," "with a puckered smile i play highlife in tuba."
Then I realized I was in Syria in the middle of an air strike, I was giving birth in Aleppo, I was a Pakistani model being killed in the name of my brother's honor. After reading through the first few poems I began to think of each poem as a gift--a gift of understanding and experience that cut through my privilege and led me into a tiny square of knowing.
As the selection of poems continued I noticed the extraordinary tenderness underlying each. Our encounters with horror and violence are personalized. We meet individuals--Lorca, an unnamed young woman in hospice, and Jose Maria, reviewing his life and loves, relentlessly drawn back to Birobidzhan: "the train keeps coming back / crawling through your eye sockets / like dreams you wish / scooped out of your skull."
Mukhopadhyay has a spectacular command of language and theme. His vision is unsparing, but he has not lost hope. This is a strong collection. I recommend it to all who enjoy poetry.
Then I realized I was in Syria in the middle of an air strike, I was giving birth in Aleppo, I was a Pakistani model being killed in the name of my brother's honor. After reading through the first few poems I began to think of each poem as a gift--a gift of understanding and experience that cut through my privilege and led me into a tiny square of knowing.
As the selection of poems continued I noticed the extraordinary tenderness underlying each. Our encounters with horror and violence are personalized. We meet individuals--Lorca, an unnamed young woman in hospice, and Jose Maria, reviewing his life and loves, relentlessly drawn back to Birobidzhan: "the train keeps coming back / crawling through your eye sockets / like dreams you wish / scooped out of your skull."
Mukhopadhyay has a spectacular command of language and theme. His vision is unsparing, but he has not lost hope. This is a strong collection. I recommend it to all who enjoy poetry.
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