NewPages Blog :: Book Reviews

Guest Post by Karina Borowicz.

In tension there is energy, and the energy in My Name Will Grow Wide Like a Tree is released in fistfuls, waves, gusts, and flames. It is an energy that bursts forth from confrontations: between wild and tame, individual and universal, being and oblivion, exuberance and despair. And with these collisions and collusions it becomes clear that the lines we draw, the walls we build, and the boundaries we dare not cross are, despite their seeming solidity, in truth quite tenuous. They are maintained by belief, and we are free to escape. The poet declares, “I don’t believe in walls. May walls / Cease this very moment to exist. / I’m boundless.”

These poems are voracious for boundlessness, an unhooking of the self from the anchor of obedience to norms that emphasize divisions. The voices in these poems speak with revolutionary fervor about such acts of disobedience. “I am composing an explosion,” the poet says in “Besieged,” a poem in which the vertigo of broken bonds is at first frightening, then thrilling.   Throughout the book, a blissful freedom and expansiveness is found in surrender to nature and the sensual world, in merging the self with the other, and in artistic expression. Overstepping boundaries, however, is not without cost. To expand, one must break. The thrill in these poems is also a kind of searing pain.

Co-translator Tracy K. Smith says she tried to capture the original’s “rhythmic and emotional insistence.” Sound play and patterning give these poems muscle and a heartbeat: “Weary, wary, watching you / Watch me. Your gale-force gaze / Wants to topple me. I give.” One can’t help but feel windblown after reading this book. It’s a force of nature.

---

My Name Will Grow Wide Like a Tree by Yi Lei, translated from the Chinese by Tracy K. Smith and Changtai Bi. Graywolf Press, November 2020.

Reviewer bio: Karina Borowicz is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently Rosetta, which won the Ex Ophidia Prize. She writes about the craft of poetry at karinaborowicz.com/blog/.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by Lannie Stabile.

A Black girl can be a dog, a rat, a gadget, a myth, a ghost, a mermaid, origami, or livestock. A Black girl can be a scavenger, a caged bird metaphor, a “perfect little alien,” or unwelcomed roots. A Black girl can be a black cloud, but she cannot be the white sky. A Black girl can be any imaginable thing, but she is not allowed to be a person. Not in the eyes of a white crowd, anyway. This is the trap, the endless, disparaging loop, that Khalisa Rae describes in her debut book of poetry Ghost in a Black Girl’s Throat.

The collection is broken into three sections titled: “Fire,” “Wind and Water,” and “Earth and Spirit,” and it’s easy to see why this is an important designation. Rae writes, “You will be asked, where are you from? more than you are asked, how are you doing?” As if white people don’t know Black girls are elemental, powerful, and from the very core of this earth.

But, still, the expertly-crafted poems are mournful and simmering with unexpressed rage. They illustrate quiet resignation (“You’re left to break and mend, stitch your wounds to not spill the secrets, sober your sorrows and be back before Monday’s 8:00 a.m. exam.”), peaceful protest (“Sometimes, I go to white spaces, plant myself. I know my roots aren’t welcome there.”), and grave desperation (“We gamble with our obituaries like we don’t have a thousand other ways to die.”).

When white people feel entitled to every space, what is a Black girl to do? The advancement is made in excruciating inches, but it comes at the expense of her raw throat and heart.

---

Ghost in a Black Girl’s Throat by Khalisa Rae. Red Hen Press, 2021.

Reviewer bio: Lannie Stabile (she/her) is the winner of OutWrite’s 2020 Chapbook Competition in Poetry; the winning chapbook, “Strange Furniture,” is out with Neon Hemlock Press. She is also a back-to-back finalist for the 2019/2020 and 2020/2021 Glass Chapbook Series and back-to-back semifinalist for the Button Poetry 2018 and 2019 Chapbook Contests.

Buy this book at our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by M. A. Dubbs.

As I’ve turned more to e-books and my Kindle through this COVID-19 winter, I have fallen in love with some beautiful indie poetry. 207th Bone is one of these books and showcases translated prose from China. Written by Zhou Li, a Chinese doctor and caretaker of one hundred tortoises, it explores themes of slice of life China, sensuality, depression, and the stress of practicing medicine.

The book starts with an introduction from Xi Nan who discusses the difficult translation process from Chinese to English. Next is an interview from Li as he explores his worldview of nihilism and how this has influenced his writing. The poems are untitled and separated by time periods of Li’s life. The tone shifts from bleak and visceral (“Go down the throat / Into my stomach / Don’t know which season is growing / In my body”) to political (“’China Dream’ is written / Under the billboard / A beggar is sleeping on the ground / I dare not toss a coin to him / I’m afraid the sound / would interrupt / His dream”).

207th Bone is a great read for anyone looking for modern Chinese poetry which is largely underrepresented in current literature.

---

207th Bone by Zhou Li. Simi Press, August 2020.

Reviewer bio: M. A. Dubbs is an award winning LBTQ Mexican-American poet from Indiana.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by Padmaja Reddy.

The Language We Were Never Taught to Speak debut poetry collection by Grace Lau, is an intensive attempt in discovering concealed elements of immigrant inheritances, queer yearnings, and multi-generational mysteries.

These poems valiantly exhibit the lonely corners and abandoned experiences of great pain. Readers explore the visible and invisible identities of immigrant life in poems like “Ginseng, winter melon, lotus root,” “My grandmother’s wallpaper,” “My grief is winter,” “Family Vacation,” “Going Home.”

Influences of church, technology, western culture, and ancestral customs among second-generation lives are revealed artfully in her poetry. A granddaughter wonders about her grandmother’s age as she believes the latter stole a few years to work early to feed her family in “The Lies That Bend.” “She said loneliness is better; than sin” summarizes how the Asian parents feel about unconventional/queer lives.

The emotional intensity of Lau’s work is shown in these compelling lines:

“She swung a sword as a man,
Wept as woman
Sang as both”

“How do you find yourself
When you don’t know your motherland”

“He has been mourning
The future
For the last twenty years”

“Loss that lives in a new-silence snow.”

I loved reading this very remarkable poetry collection.

---

The Language We Were Never Taught to Speak by Grace Lau. Guernica Editions, May 2021.

Reviewer bio: Padmaja Reddy, originally from India, lives in Connecticut. She received an MA in English Literature from SK University. Former journalist and she published poetry and book reviews in various publications like Yale Review of Books, NewPages.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by Chloe Yelena Miller.

Ocean Currents by Hannah Rousselot offers the reader the narrator’s strength as she directly faces emotional and physical pain and struggles with mental illness. Rousselot does what a good teacher should do, as she writes in the poem “Guidance,” “Or, I should say, I do not teach them- / I provide the tools they need to live within themselves.” Rousselot gives the reader the tools to face and learn from such hard emotions.

The collection opens with the poem “Vacation” which immediately introduces suicide. The poem begins, “What if you could kill yourself, / but like, only for a day?” When I read the opening line, I paused. Could I handle reading this, I wondered? The conversational tone and turn in the poem with, “but like,” offered me a path into the poem and the collection.

Ocean Currents is rooted in the body. The narrator describes hurting herself, but also actively grounding herself. She writes in “Immersed,” “When I rise out of the pond, water drips down / my skin and sinks into the ground. The Earth is soft // between my toes. Standing there, wet and grounded, I can feel the rotation of my planet.” When the narrator’s hurt and relief are boldly and physically described, the reader knows she can trust the poems.

This is a book that instructs: face your truth while tending your needs to survive. In “Sleepwalking”, Rousselot writes, “It {Life} needs a reminder to wake up.” Ocean Currents grounds and wakes up the reader to know herself and others.

In “Leather Gloves” Rousselot writes, “& how can you be adult with so much / child inside of you?” But she has the superpower described in the same poem, “In college, I tell my friend about my / ‘world’ hurts and she tells me / that I have a superpower.”

---

Ocean Currents by Hannah Rousselot. Finishing Line Press, June 2021

Reviewer bio: Chloe Yelena Miller is a writer and teacher living in Washington, D.C.

Guest Post by Padmaja Reddy.

A beautiful collection of poems, How to Love the World is a true pleasure to read.

The poems seem to be written by the hearts that view the world through the lens of kindness. Poems that reflect on “Joy of Presence,” “Small Victories,” “Pieces of Heaven” and other modes of positive outlooks.

The love of a father and his desire to see his kid painted so vividly in such a short poem (“Bus Stop”). Another father appears “taking care [of his daughter] in full silence and secrecy.” He loves her even when she is lost in sleep. Such beautiful images of love and bonding.

Readers can see an optimistic parent believing in the goodness of the world in the words of January Gill O’Neil “and wonder who could mistake him for anything but good.” The speaker also fears “for his safety—the darkest child on our street in the empire of blocks.”

Rain sounds different and appears as remembered wisdom in “Praise of Darkness.” We imagine ourselves as immortal in bright summer nights and learn to love both ordinary and extra in “Perceptive Prayer.”

Poetic expressions like “Hope doesn’t know its destination”; “Tomorrow the world will begin again, another fresh start”; “A letting go of one thing, to fall into other”; “A girl of color is a light house”; “A day that began like a gift”; and “the decades of side-by-side, our great good luck” fill hearts with warm joy and bliss.

“My Daughter’s Singing,” “Fifteen Years Later, I See How It Went,” “Kindergarten Studies the Human Heart,” “Held Open,” and “The Lesson of the Falling Leaves” are among some of my favorite poems.

To sum up aptly, “Glad to be in this place, this life and to read this book” as in the poem of “Astral Chorus.”

---

How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope edited by James Crews. Storey Publishing, April 2021.

Reviewer bio: Padmaja Reddy, originally from India, lives in Connecticut. She received an MA in English Literature from SK University. Former journalist and she published poetry and book reviews in various publications like Yale Review of Books, NewPages.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by Linda Bullock.

Elda Pappadà‘s book of poems, Freedom is divided into three parts: love, loss, and understanding. Pappadà invites her readers to crawl inside and look outside her window. They will find her inner tapestry, an amazing although sometimes painful place to be, and experience the joy of her love, sensual delights, confusion, sadness, anger, and abject despair.

Pappadà‘s facility with poetic devices and her ability to use words that immediately trigger a surprising visual image can be seen in the poem “My Man“: “He gives four hands / before being asked, / speaks transparent truth / inside, cotton softness, / outside, skin tougher / than tree bark”.

Elda’s decision to include the age-old nature vs. nurture question in considering her relationships is a brilliant addition to the uniqueness of the piece, as we can see in “Built In”: “Patterned from childhood, / our personalities fated / to be incompatible; / crossing path, / we find ourselves / curious, intrigued, / and filled with longing.”

The poet’s truths act as a catalyst for self-discovery. The artwork on the cover of Freedom also displays this—a dream-like female image seems to be moving away from a red chair but we don’t get the feeling she is trying to escape. She seems to be observing/living into her journey and patiently waiting for the fog to lift. Readers will return again and again to Pappadà‘s poems and understand that self-knowledge, and personal integrity gained through remaining present and examining one’s life experiences are what freedom is all about.

---

Freedom by Elda Pappadà. FriesenPress, 2020.                                                                                                                                                            

Reviewer bio: Linda Bullock is a published poet and a painter. She worked for 45 years in the mental health sector of the health care system and her art often reflects her experiences and focuses on the human condition.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by Padmaja Reddy.

There seems to be a connection between poetry and pain. Kendra Allen’s “The Collection Plate” is no exception. Her poetry is surely driven with pain and ache.

Poems carved with passion, agony, and anguish reveal the experiences and emotions of Black lives. Her bold and demanding tone emerges powerful with apt phrases and genuine craft.

Sentimental expressions like: “A family name can mean something; that way we can share the same death bed, that way I work for cheap . . . and request to forget mornings . . . ,” “digging her dynasty out of me so she can save it . . . ,” and “Yet I still don’t know the difference between pleasure and penetration” certainly leave a solid impact on the reader.

My favorite poems are “Solace by Earl,” “I am the note Held Towards the End,” “Gifting back Barn and Bread,” and “I come to You as Humbly as I Know.”

---

The Collection Plate by Kendra Allen. Ecco Press, July 2021.

Reviewer bio: Padmaja Reddy, originally from India, lives in Connecticut. She received an MA in English Literature from SK University. Former journalist and she published poetry and book reviews in various publications like Yale Review of Books, Amazon.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

Guest Post by by J. Guaner.

I enjoy reading poetry collections by poets whose names are new to me. Many times you smell something fresh when a book opens its pages to give you delightful surprises. Swep Lovitt’s This Fierce Afterglow is such a book. Continue reading “The Joy of Simplicity”

Guest Post by Michael Hettich.

John Balaban is one of the finest poets of his generation, and indeed one of the best poets at work today. When I say “fine,” I mean just that: his poetry communicates a discernment of eye and ear attuned to nuance, subtle variation, and the truths embedded therein. These qualities, coupled with a rare intelligence, a deeply-informed worldview, and a resistance to navel-gazing or rhetorical pomposity, combine to invest his work with a Classical tenor that has the clarity of good prose and the heft of well-made poetry. As with all of his previous books of poetry and prose, his new book, Empires, is an engaging, invigorating, expertly-crafted collection that manages to speak simultaneously to and of our time as well as of the great span of history that has brought us to this moment. Continue reading “The World at Large”

Guest Post by Chloe Yelena Miller.

Naomi Thiers splits her poetry book, Made of Air, into two sections, Ordinary Women and Made of Air. The first half of the poems are dedicated to specific women, but a feminine presence is strong in the second half, through the narrator or, often, “she.” The poem, “Old People Waking,” ends with the lines, “And if everything hurts, it means / the current’s flowing; we hiss inside: / Life. Live.” This is the book’s message in a stanza: feel and acknowledge the pain and keep living.

The female narrator’s awareness of age centers on her own years lived, as she remains every age she has been. She ends the poem, “The Pearl” with the line, “For I feel my own 16-year-old inside, humming / eager, terrified—real as the slow / rain of wild and gentle losses.” Aging women aren’t often seen, but here, the narrator centers them in the poem’s scenes.

---

Made of Air by Naomi Thiers. Kelsay Books, October 2020.

Reviewer bio: Chloe Yelena Miller is a writer and teacher living in Washington, D.C.

Guest Post by Michael Hettich.

Denusha Laméris’s Bonfire Opera, a book of surprising, deeply moving personal lyrics, is a stellar example of what’s best in contemporary mainstream American poetry. Published in the ever-more-impressive and various Pitt Poetry Series, the poems in this book are masterfully crafted, emotionally challenging, and accessible—capable of speaking powerfully to both poets and general readers alike. While her poems break no new ground, the news Laméris brings us is intimate, timely, and often profoundly revelatory. Continue reading “Of Love and Revelation”

Guest Post by Scudder H. Parker.

Opening Eva Zimet’s first book of poetry The Lost Grip makes the reader feel drawn unexpectedly into a Tango lesson offered by a skilled instructor who is also a Zen master.

You can’t stand back and watch. Your hand has been taken; an arm touches your back lightly; you are drawn onto the floor. You feel the pain the writer has known, but you are not allowed to step back and offer comfort. You must feel and share it in the dance.

This delicate, piercing volume sometimes confides, sometimes spins you around, sometimes tugs you back in close, sometimes pauses and stands there with you waiting.

In “A Dreamspace For All of Us,” Zimet writes: “I dreamed of a space for us / any of us, all of us.” But instead of some comfortable, welcoming home, she concludes:

The floor is wide-planked and smooth.
The space is otherwise empty.
I sleep against the wall.
Daniel also slept by the wall in a studio, and he survived.
We are the most intimate, in that.

The book is haunted by violence and the struggle to recover trust and intimacy.  Sometimes it is brusque and almost protective in tone. In “Risk,” Zimet writes: “I wanted to share the freefall of intimacy / with you. Didn’t happen.”

The poems reveal again and again a guarded strength that will not be overwhelmed by loss. In “Three Jewls: A Commentary,” Zimet concludes:

I am still with the contents of this emptiness,
no relic, no recognizable thing.
There was nothing there after all,
but my gift.

This book is not for the faint of heart, but when you stick with it, it sticks with you, and in its own spare, powerful way offers unexpected comfort.

---

The Lost Grip by Eva Zimet, Rootstock Publishing, December 15, 2020.

Reviewer bio: Scudder H. Parker lives in Vermont and is a poet and author of Safe as Lightning.

Guest Post by Chris L. Butler.

2020 was filled with many twists and turns, but one thing that stayed consistent was Reggie Johnson’s commitment to poetry. One of my favorite books I’ve read this year is Cuarentena, Johnson’s ninth poetry collection in five years. Cuarentena is a melodic full-length collection reflecting on Johnson’s experiences of the first six months of the COVID-19 pandemic. This book is broken into several sections, beginning with “Life Before Quarantine,” and culminating with “The New Normal.” Johnson reminds us of how carefree life once was with lines like “Saturday’s used to be the night to unwind,” in “Saturday Shenanigans.”

As the book progresses, the reader gets to engage a section titled “Unrest.” Here, Johnson draws the audience into his interpretation of race relations in America. This section features pieces like “Divided,” Johnson’s viral poem, which was featured on WLWT 5 NBC Cincinnati in June. As a Black American, I personally connected with this book. Johnson lays it all on the table for me with lines like “No matter the time period, I am more than a statistic . . . a stereotype,” featured in the poem “Look at Me.”

Cuarentena hits home for the reader, in a timely collection where Johnson dives into the political. I would recommend this book to anyone, but especially those experiencing the duality of living in the pandemic as an oppressed person.

---

Cuarentena by Reggie Johnson. Rad Press Publishing, September 2020.

Reviewer bio: Chris L. Butler is an African American and Dutch, Pushcart nominated poet, and essayist. Chris was selected as a 2020 HUES Scholar. He was a participant in the 2020 Palette Poetry BIPOC Chapbook Workshop. His work can be found in The Daily Drunk Mag, Rejection Letters, and others.

Guest Post by Michael Hettich.

In this disjunct time, when cynicism and lies swarm the air like gnats, it’s a great solace to find a poet whose work is suffused with what can only be called love, a poet whose vision, though fully engaged with the fractures and griefs of this moment, is imbued with a sense of wonder, humor and compassion for all, including himself. Richard Jones has been writing such poems for many years. His numerous books published by Copper Canyon Press as well as stellar chapbooks from Adastra Press and other small publishers, to say nothing of his translations or of his work editing Poetry East, have distinguished him as one of our most valuable poets. His new book, Avalon, from Green Linden Press, is as strong as anything he has previously written, a work of great tenderness and vision.

Many of the poems in Avalon take the reader on spiritual journeys through realms of confusion and sorrow leading toward a sense that, somehow, amidst our existential bewilderment, the wonder of our very being holds transcendent truths we’ve yet to plumb, truths that might enthrall us were we to embrace them. A citizen of our time, Jones is nevertheless a kind of visionary, a poet who risks vulnerability to achieve the kind of innocence that makes revelation possible. His poems often start in the particulars of his own life to seamlessly move into fable-like narratives in which the ineffable is glimpsed, the unsayable (almost) whispered. And though what’s glimpsed eludes the speaker’s full grasp, nevertheless he knows it’s there, that moment out of time when the truth of each moment is revealed. In short, these poems simultaneously enact and document instances of grace, blessings in the midst of confusion.

Though never “confessional” in the conventional sense of that word, all of Jones’s poems are deeply personal, exploring not regrets and losses but rather yearnings—for the deepest connections to his family, to the world, to himself and, finally, to his God: “a praying mantis / lands on my left forearm, / turns his head, and studies me. / The spiritual way he folds / his long green wings / makes me believe he’s here / on a heavenly mission . . . .” Our blessings, for Jones, are located exactly where our confusions and griefs most pain us as feeling, yearning, tender-hearted humans. Such poetry as this is always nutritious food, but it is particularly so in these ravaged, profoundly confusing times. For those that read them carefully and with an open heart, the poems of Avalon will provide not just aesthetic pleasure but a kind of solace as well.

---

Avalon by Richard Jones. Green Linden Press, June 2020.

Reviewer bio: Michael Hettich has published a dozen books of poetry, most recently To Start an Orchard, which was published in 2019. A new book, The Mica Mine, is forthcoming. His website is michaelhettich.com.

Guest Post by J. Guaner.

Margo Taft Stever, founder of the Hudson Valley Writers Center, has published her second poetry collection, Cracked Piano, which invites the reader to ponder human existence issues.

“Idiot’s Guide to Counting,” the opening poem, interprets the sane and insane with rhetorical questions comprising the first two stanzas and the first half of the third stanza: “How do you become one / with the horse, riding and becoming / the act of riding, / and the horse becoming the self / and the other at exactly / the same second, counting strides, / counting muscle movement, / counting fences, hurtling over / them with the horse, counting /the everything / of one?” These questions function as an apostrophe articulated to a grandfather figure in the past, an alter ego, or a contemporary everyman “counting strides, / counting muscle movement, / counting fences . . . ” Yet, there is no solution to everything counted or to the person who counts, as the hyperbole of “idiot” in the title suggests.

The poet also looks deep into the misery, monotony, and aloneness of human life. The person who counts suggests either an alter ego or a contemporary everyman. Sadness stays with everything counted, the existence, or the family tree, as questioned in the third stanza—“How to become one with / the branches of a tree, a grandfather / tree in an apple orchard / that no longer exists?” We count our time, but we are not able to find the meaning of life. In the end, counting becomes meaningless, and the speaker sighs, “counting / everything as no longer / existing, counting / trees as one with the everything / that no longer exists.” Stylistically, even the monotonous voice reveals the plain sameness of life confined to the person himself.

In a sense, this poem sets the tone of Stever’s Cracked Piano, a tone of loss and disconnection.

---

Cracked Piano by Margo Taft Stever. CavanKerry Press, 2019.

Buy this book from our affiliate Bookshop.org.

 

Guest Post by Chloe Yelena Miller.

After months at home during the coronavirus epidemic, I found Miriam O’Neal’s poetry collection The Body Dialogues a respite. Through a focus on the body, personal history, religion, travel, and literature, I could both leave myself and remember who I used to be. The postcard poems, in particular, reminded me of our human capacity to inhabit the past and faraway places regardless of where we are.

As we plug into our devices, we need to connect with others and ourselves. O’Neal feeds the readers with her poems and places us wherever we are. “Field” ends with, “She gives the grownups bread and tea, / the children milk and bread. / This is what it takes to tell the body, / You are here.”

That which is seemingly forgotten is etched into the poet’s experiences and appears in these poems. Sometimes, we forget who we have been. Throughout this three-part collection of poetry, O’Neal’s “I” grows and shifts into an experienced adult. In “The Sister Doesn’t Say,” O’Neal writes, “Only she will know what she can’t remember.”

Writers love their building blocks, words and grammar, and O’Neal is no different. My favorite poem, “Homesick,” has the speaker looking towards Italian grammar. The poem ends with, “and you in the present form; / always in the familiar.” Even when the reader is transported into the past, the past becomes a vivid present.

The writer can train the reader’s eyes on something to see it more clearly in order to see something else. O’Neal writes her own ars poetica within the poem “Felucca,” “Because she cannot photograph the sky / or the darkness hiding her hand, / she’ll photography my boat and say, / See? This is a Felucca.”

---

The Body Dialogues by Miriam O’Neal. Lily Poetry Review, January 2020.

Reviewer bio: Chloe Yelena Miller is a writer and teacher living in Washington, D.C.