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4.29 AVERAGE
4.29 AVERAGE
dark
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
i want to return here unrushed. poems piled high with imagery and resolutions and observations and stories. they make me want to write close readings.
“I keep dreaming I’m a creature pulling out my claws
one by one to sell in a market stall next to stacks
of pomegranates and garden tools. It’s predictable,
the logic of dreams. Long ago I lived in Heaven
because I wanted to. When I fell to earth
I knew the way—through the soot, into the leaves.
It still took years. Upon landing, the ground
embraced me sadly, with the gentleness
of someone delivering tragic news to a child.”
one by one to sell in a market stall next to stacks
of pomegranates and garden tools. It’s predictable,
the logic of dreams. Long ago I lived in Heaven
because I wanted to. When I fell to earth
I knew the way—through the soot, into the leaves.
It still took years. Upon landing, the ground
embraced me sadly, with the gentleness
of someone delivering tragic news to a child.”
reflective
fast-paced
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
Every night, the moon unpeels itself without affectation,
Its exhausting, remaining humble amidst the vicissitudes of fortune,
Its difficult to be anything at all with the whole world right here for the having.
- Being in this world makes me feel like a time traveler, Kaveh Akbar.
.
.
With staggering 57% of those who read it rated it 5 stars, i was curious and ended up buying it from an online secondhand book seller. Once finished, i was in awe. If this is a debut poetry book, then i’m in, like all in. I wanted to read more of his works, whatever he put out after ‘calling a wolf a wolf’. The major theme of his poetry is his battuule with alcohol addiction / alcoholism. There are few other themes that stood out such as his persian root and identity, his faith and the question about God and his sense of space between what his mind thought of and what his body felt of. I would label him the epitome of a modern poet. His words truly are thrilling and intimate to the core but at the same time, so profound. I did share few pages of his poems that i like but overall, as a collection, its heavy with emotion and unashamedly piercing. It will move you. I know i did. The reason i give the 4 stars and not 5 stars because i didnt like it when poetry in lines are all over the place or they wantef to turn it into some kind of shape or pattern. I find it annoying and distracting. Maybe i am just an old school reader who prefer my poetry to be neatly arrange in an ordinary way.
.
Its exhausting, remaining humble amidst the vicissitudes of fortune,
Its difficult to be anything at all with the whole world right here for the having.
- Being in this world makes me feel like a time traveler, Kaveh Akbar.
.
.
With staggering 57% of those who read it rated it 5 stars, i was curious and ended up buying it from an online secondhand book seller. Once finished, i was in awe. If this is a debut poetry book, then i’m in, like all in. I wanted to read more of his works, whatever he put out after ‘calling a wolf a wolf’. The major theme of his poetry is his battuule with alcohol addiction / alcoholism. There are few other themes that stood out such as his persian root and identity, his faith and the question about God and his sense of space between what his mind thought of and what his body felt of. I would label him the epitome of a modern poet. His words truly are thrilling and intimate to the core but at the same time, so profound. I did share few pages of his poems that i like but overall, as a collection, its heavy with emotion and unashamedly piercing. It will move you. I know i did. The reason i give the 4 stars and not 5 stars because i didnt like it when poetry in lines are all over the place or they wantef to turn it into some kind of shape or pattern. I find it annoying and distracting. Maybe i am just an old school reader who prefer my poetry to be neatly arrange in an ordinary way.
.
Every compelling collection. These are very agressive poems that reflect the state of at least a part of society. Loved the images and themes.,and titles!
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
I really enjoyed this collection; while it centers around alcoholism and recovery, it is also-- like all poetry, like all stories--about what it means to be human: our messy lives, full of love, and loss, and desire, and confusion, and the struggle to find ourselves, and misplaced certainty, and faith / loss of faith of various kinds. My favorite poems were "Calling a Wolf a Wolf," "Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before," "Heritage," "Desunt Nonnulla," "What Seems like Joy," "Portrait of the Alcoholic with Moths and River," "The Straw is Too Long, the Axe is Too Dull," and "God."
"Calling a Wolf a Wolf"
...everyone's forgotten I'm here I've tried all the usual tricks pretending I've just been made terrifying like a suddenly carnivorous horse like a rabid hissing sapphire. ...
"Stop Me if You've Heard this One Before"
...Sometimes you just have to leave
whatever's real to you, you have to clomp
through fields and kick the caps off
all the toadstools. Sometimes
you have to march all the way to Galilee
or the literal foot of God himself before you realize
you've already passed the place where
you were supposed to die. ...
"Heritage"
in books, love can be war-ending a soldier drops his sword
to lie forking oysters into his enemy's mouth in life we hold love up to the light
to marvel at its impotence ...
"Desunt Nonnulla"
...it's so much easier to catalogue hunger to atomize
absence and carry each bit like ants taking home a meal
“What Seems like Joy”
"Calling a Wolf a Wolf"
...everyone's forgotten I'm here I've tried all the usual tricks pretending I've just been made terrifying like a suddenly carnivorous horse like a rabid hissing sapphire. ...
"Stop Me if You've Heard this One Before"
...Sometimes you just have to leave
whatever's real to you, you have to clomp
through fields and kick the caps off
all the toadstools. Sometimes
you have to march all the way to Galilee
or the literal foot of God himself before you realize
you've already passed the place where
you were supposed to die. ...
"Heritage"
in books, love can be war-ending a soldier drops his sword
to lie forking oysters into his enemy's mouth in life we hold love up to the light
to marvel at its impotence ...
"Desunt Nonnulla"
...it's so much easier to catalogue hunger to atomize
absence and carry each bit like ants taking home a meal
“What Seems like Joy”
…even a lobster climbs away from its shell a few
times a life but every time I open my eyes I find
I am still inside myself each epiphany dull and familiar
"Portrait of the Alcoholic with Moths and River"
to make a life first you need a dying star
this seems important with you so close to
collapsing yourself the mute swan's final
burst of song I know you've tried this before
when they asked you where it hurt you motioned in
a circle to the ground under your feet
"The Straw is Too Long, the Axe is Too Dull"
...I need to be poured dry instead of this slow seeping its hurts even to think about the leak in my brain
where brackish water trickles in and memory trickles out
with what do I mend a hole like that
answer me with what
"God"
...The work I've been doing
is a kind of erasing. I dump my ashtray
into a bucket of paint and coat myself
in the gray slick, rolling around on the carpets of rich strangers
while they applaud and sip their scotch. ...
....
...They say even longing has its limits: in a bucket, an eel
will simply stop swimming long before it starves. Wounded wolves will pad
away from their pack to die lonely and cold. Do you not know how scary
it can get out here? The talons that dropped me left long scars around
my neck that still burn in the wind. ...
"Portrait of the Alcoholic with Moths and River"
to make a life first you need a dying star
this seems important with you so close to
collapsing yourself the mute swan's final
burst of song I know you've tried this before
when they asked you where it hurt you motioned in
a circle to the ground under your feet
"The Straw is Too Long, the Axe is Too Dull"
...I need to be poured dry instead of this slow seeping its hurts even to think about the leak in my brain
where brackish water trickles in and memory trickles out
with what do I mend a hole like that
answer me with what
"God"
...The work I've been doing
is a kind of erasing. I dump my ashtray
into a bucket of paint and coat myself
in the gray slick, rolling around on the carpets of rich strangers
while they applaud and sip their scotch. ...
....
...They say even longing has its limits: in a bucket, an eel
will simply stop swimming long before it starves. Wounded wolves will pad
away from their pack to die lonely and cold. Do you not know how scary
it can get out here? The talons that dropped me left long scars around
my neck that still burn in the wind. ...
There's no way to sum up everything this book is. There just isn't.
This book doesn't feel quite like a book. The second you pick it up you can feel that extra sort of weight on it, despite its relative thinness. Collections like this are different from others in that there really isn't a beginning or an end–but there's an everlastingness to it. You never finish reading it, really. You read a poem, you process it, and your mind whirs in a million different ways, trying to make sense of it. The beautiful thing is, that no matter how you think of it, it manages to make sense. Akbar's writing is infinitely versatile.
In technical terms, too, this book is magnificent. It manages darkness without overdramatizing. It makes poetic things that at once seemed impossible to beautify, it takes pain and writes it in the way every poet wishes they could. It's a close to flawless collection, really.
My only criticism is that many of the poems seem like rewrites of each other. As a complete entity, this book is magnificently unique, but within itself Akbar often repeats themes and metaphors. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but to me, it cheapened the sharpness of it all.
This book doesn't feel quite like a book. The second you pick it up you can feel that extra sort of weight on it, despite its relative thinness. Collections like this are different from others in that there really isn't a beginning or an end–but there's an everlastingness to it. You never finish reading it, really. You read a poem, you process it, and your mind whirs in a million different ways, trying to make sense of it. The beautiful thing is, that no matter how you think of it, it manages to make sense. Akbar's writing is infinitely versatile.
In technical terms, too, this book is magnificent. It manages darkness without overdramatizing. It makes poetic things that at once seemed impossible to beautify, it takes pain and writes it in the way every poet wishes they could. It's a close to flawless collection, really.
My only criticism is that many of the poems seem like rewrites of each other. As a complete entity, this book is magnificently unique, but within itself Akbar often repeats themes and metaphors. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but to me, it cheapened the sharpness of it all.
