By Michele Glazer
Right here, the writer confronts the slipperiness of language and notion as she probes common tactics - the lives of bugs, the uncertainty of affection and the deaths of humans. The poems negotiate among hope for anything irrefutable and an uneasy bedrock of paradox.
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Additional info for Aggregate of Disturbances (Iowa Poetry Prize)
That night the sky was nothing but stars and the crickets made a curtain of sound. Why can’t I remember that? He washed my hair. I lay on the porch with my neck extended; he rested my head in his open hand. The sky had rounded up all its citizens and pressed down. Historic House, Astoria I was there for the invention of nostalgia. It wasn’t for everyone and never would be though the view has changed. Freighters lining the channel on their way upriver to the other city, these were the past. It isn’t the room I want but the view from out the window.
This dog’s mouth is eager with the warm feathers. I saw the dog haul out of the weeds the unbitten bird and started having second thoughts. There’s something in there I want to talk about. Eager with the feathers of the just dropped bird, that dog’s mouth inside is empty. Now I don’t want to. And this dog’s mouth is what I think of when I think of you when I don’t want to. Early Romance: Japanese Garden (in the heart of the city) We sit on a bench & look at the raked rocks: The islands of Japan.
There’s how it got there — how it got to gather mass and be intruder who might occlude cognition. Balance would fail her. The full moon tells a story, a chronology of movement toward the center and out again. The children — who have no name for it — draw pictures — Moon upon moon — we are drawn into the dense and glowing center, cast there at the white shore of cells, the location of where she is where there is no backwards and no future and the nurses were kind to warn her when it was slivered out she would hear inside her head the sound of it assuming the very shape of things at the edge throw the edge into dispute and suggest something beyond the full moon is not beautiful and the rind — slim moon — the surgeon left might not possess that critical mass it needs to rise again — he says — leaving all things aside — v Map Everywhere there was a bush and a bird in it.