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A review by samue_l
Bluets by Maggie Nelson
5.0
In March of 2024, I say Bluets is my favorite volume of poetry written in this century.
Someone said they were glad they read this after the psych ward instead of in it. And I can verify the verity of that sentiment. Bluets is a deep, dark dive into an ocean of griefy blue "propositions" of which there are 240 numbered in the book. The way in which Nelson numbers these brief prose-poems follows how Wittgenstein numbered his propositions in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, the juiciest depository of the 20th Century philosophy in content, but also, as we see with BLUETS, experimentation with form.
And speaking of form, I never understood the attraction to prose-poetry before reading this book. Now it is quite clear, at least for now in my head, that prose-poetry can deliver some very potent stuff. Prose-poetry, for example, requires rhythm to carry a lot of weight. Conventional poetry dices up the content with line breaks, while prose-poetry, without that luxury, must shoulder the content as one or at least carry central consolidated weight. Thus, rhythm and sound as they rush along the page and the ideas and the tone and cleverness do the work for the prose-poem. So for me it's easier to discern whether this writing is actually poignant and profound since the writer has less tricks to make us think at their disposal.
The concept behind this book is genius. But it's not 'just blue'. That can't make something brilliant. What we have here is a fractured ensemble of grief, heartbreak, history, musings both innocuous and barbed, and the occasional profound quip or monostich, all connected by a big blue web of craft and eloquence. It's just so obvious what an incredible knack for words Maggie Nelson has. 'Command' of the language is not enough to describe it—her writing surpasses such fundamental considerations and launches itself above and beyond into a place where 'command' is a given, and she can just play. And when she does, Bluets blossoms, and you find yourself circling this or that proposition. There are certainly a dozen or so that have been on replay in my head. Here is one (yeah it's kind of silly).
12. And don't talk to me about about "things as they are" being changed upon any "blue guitar." What can be changed upon a blue guitar is not of interest here.
Someone said they were glad they read this after the psych ward instead of in it. And I can verify the verity of that sentiment. Bluets is a deep, dark dive into an ocean of griefy blue "propositions" of which there are 240 numbered in the book. The way in which Nelson numbers these brief prose-poems follows how Wittgenstein numbered his propositions in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, the juiciest depository of the 20th Century philosophy in content, but also, as we see with BLUETS, experimentation with form.
And speaking of form, I never understood the attraction to prose-poetry before reading this book. Now it is quite clear, at least for now in my head, that prose-poetry can deliver some very potent stuff. Prose-poetry, for example, requires rhythm to carry a lot of weight. Conventional poetry dices up the content with line breaks, while prose-poetry, without that luxury, must shoulder the content as one or at least carry central consolidated weight. Thus, rhythm and sound as they rush along the page and the ideas and the tone and cleverness do the work for the prose-poem. So for me it's easier to discern whether this writing is actually poignant and profound since the writer has less tricks to make us think at their disposal.
The concept behind this book is genius. But it's not 'just blue'. That can't make something brilliant. What we have here is a fractured ensemble of grief, heartbreak, history, musings both innocuous and barbed, and the occasional profound quip or monostich, all connected by a big blue web of craft and eloquence. It's just so obvious what an incredible knack for words Maggie Nelson has. 'Command' of the language is not enough to describe it—her writing surpasses such fundamental considerations and launches itself above and beyond into a place where 'command' is a given, and she can just play. And when she does, Bluets blossoms, and you find yourself circling this or that proposition. There are certainly a dozen or so that have been on replay in my head. Here is one (yeah it's kind of silly).
12. And don't talk to me about about "things as they are" being changed upon any "blue guitar." What can be changed upon a blue guitar is not of interest here.