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Lädt ... Prelude to Bruisevon Saeed Jones
Top Five Books of 2016 (462) Lädt ...
Melde dich bei LibraryThing an um herauszufinden, ob du dieses Buch mögen würdest. Keine aktuelle Diskussion zu diesem Buch. To say that Saeed Jones is intense, is an understatement. Just when I think that I cannot have a more emotional response to a poem, the next poem hits me in the guts again. I am not one to typically read a book of poetry, but I am glad this one fell into my lap when it did. Dealing with gender, race, and loss, Jones' poems take readers on an emotional tailspin if you take the time to listen. Poetry isn't for everyone, but this is poetry worth reading. For a more detailed reflection on Saeed Jones' Prelude to Bruise When does the gene that allows one to enjoy poetry kick in? I just don't get it. I see that this collection is good, I see that there are some striking images, I see that much of it is powerful. But it doesn't resonate with me or effect me much. I looked up Saeed Jones when I picked up this collection off my shelf, and I ended up reading one of his essays online. And OMG, give me more of *that*. The medium of poetry just doesn't work for me, I guess. If it works for you, get you a copy of this collection. Because you, I think, will love it. 6 out of 5. I didn't exactly mean to survive myself. -- "Post-Apocalyptic Heartbeat" Because I follow Saeed on Twitter, I happened to see a tweet a little while back where he said "I'm really glad I didn't kill myself in 2011. It's good to still be here." and having read this collection... I suppose, all I can say is that I'm really glad, too. These poems are so full of power and emotion that they can be a little scary sometimes - a little intimidating - but they're not only some of the best poems I've ever read... they're some of the best things I've ever read period. If you're a nerd like me, you can have fun watching him use septameter and then breaking the meter (see: "Thralldom II") or doing any sorts of other linguistic tricks - and if you're just a passing traveler, read "Boy in a Whalebone Corset". Actually, pick any poem and you'll find something to appreciate and enjoy, whether you're a poetry fan or not. This is a beautiful, haunting, nearly perfect collection. More at RB: http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2015/02/27/prelude-to-bruise/ keine Rezensionen | Rezension hinzufügen
AuszeichnungenPrestigeträchtige AuswahlenBemerkenswerte Listen
Fiction.
Poetry.
Romance.
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Google Books — Lädt ... GenresMelvil Decimal System (DDC)811.6Literature English (North America) American poetry 21st CenturyKlassifikation der Library of Congress [LCC] (USA)BewertungDurchschnitt:
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After the prologue the poems are divided up into four sections, after which follows a couple of codas. In the first section, home, childhood, breaking free. Red is at the end of black. Pitch-black unthreads/and swings garnet//in what I thought was home. I'm climbing/out of my father.
In the second, racial and sexual awakening, and self-loathing. In "Jasper, 1998", on the dragging death of James Byrd, Jr.: I speak/in the language of sharp turns. ... Hear me, Jasper./Hear me for miles. About a lover, in "He Thinks He Can Leave Me": and his darkness/mistakes me//for sunrise.
In the third, unsuccessful relationships, and struggling with loneliness. Straight, no chaser, a joke in our bed/but I stopped laughing; all those empty bottles,//kitchen counters covered with beer cans/and broken glasses. To realize you drank//so you could face me the morning after,/the only way to choke down rage at the body//sleeping beside you. What did I know/of your father's backhand or the pine casket//he threatened to put you in? Then, In my empty bed, I dreamed//the record's needle pointed into my back,/spinning me into no one's song.
In the fourth: death. In "Mississippi Drowning", Let me show you how//to make your lungs/a home for minnows, how//to let them flicker//like silver//in and out of your mouth/like last words..., and in "Hour Between Dog & Wolf", In an hour colored tourmaline, I mistake your guitar/for a body in sleep and smash you into effigy,//splinter your way back into my skin.
The coda gives us "History, According to Boy" which reads as an autobiographical prose-poem of growing up black and gay, and finally "Last Portrait as Boy", which hopefully signals growth beyond the hard struggle witnessed thus far, summarized in one of the earlier poems as Half this life I've spent falling out of fourth-story windows.
Strong and enjoyable collection. ( )