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Fast: Poems
The first new collection of poetry in five years from Pulitzer Prize winner Jorie Graham
“Graham’s great body of work has more of life and of the world than that of almost any other poet now writing. . . . She is to post-1980 poetry what Bob Dylan is to post-1960 rock: she changed her art form, moved it forward, made it able to absorb and express more than it could before. It permanently bears her mark.� �New York Times
In her first new collection in five years—her most exhilarating, personal, and formally inventive to date—Graham explores the limits of the human and the uneasy seductions of the post-human. Conjuring an array of voices and perspectives—from bots, to the holy shroud, to the ocean floor, to a medium transmitting from beyond the grave—these poems give urgent form to the ever-increasing pace of transformation of our planet and ourselves. As it navigates cyber life, 3D-printed “life,� life after death, biologically, chemically, and electronically modified life, Fast lights up the border of our new condition as individuals and as a species on the brink.
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“Graham’s great body of work has more of life and of the world than that of almost any other poet now writing. . . . She is to post-1980 poetry what Bob Dylan is to post-1960 rock: she changed her art form, moved it forward, made it able to absorb and express more than it could before. It permanently bears her mark.� �New York Times
In her first new collection in five years—her most exhilarating, personal, and formally inventive to date—Graham explores the limits of the human and the uneasy seductions of the post-human. Conjuring an array of voices and perspectives—from bots, to the holy shroud, to the ocean floor, to a medium transmitting from beyond the grave—these poems give urgent form to the ever-increasing pace of transformation of our planet and ourselves. As it navigates cyber life, 3D-printed “life,� life after death, biologically, chemically, and electronically modified life, Fast lights up the border of our new condition as individuals and as a species on the brink.
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- GenresPoetry
96 pages, Hardcover
Published May 2, 2017
13 people are currently reading
393 people want to read
About the author
Jorie Graham
47Ìýbooks163ÌýfollowersJorie Graham was born in New York City in 1950, the daughter of a journalist and a sculptor. She was raised in Rome, Italy and educated in French schools. She studied philosophy at the Sorbonne in Paris before attending New York University as an undergraduate, where she studied filmmaking. She received an MFA in poetry from the University of Iowa.
Graham is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Place (2012), Sea Change (2008), Overlord (2005), Never (2002), Swarm (2001), The Errancy (1997), and The Dream of the Unified Field: Selected Poems 1974-1994, which won the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
Her many honors include a John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Fellowship and the Morton Dauwen Zabel Award from The American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters.
She has taught at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop and is currently the Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard University. She served as a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets from 1997 to 2003.
Graham is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Place (2012), Sea Change (2008), Overlord (2005), Never (2002), Swarm (2001), The Errancy (1997), and The Dream of the Unified Field: Selected Poems 1974-1994, which won the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
Her many honors include a John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Fellowship and the Morton Dauwen Zabel Award from The American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters.
She has taught at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop and is currently the Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard University. She served as a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets from 1997 to 2003.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 33 reviews
November 24, 2020
Slow is more like it, in honor of how you'll read it. If you're game, I mean. The book is hardback and plays hardball -- 7 x 9 inches and almost every page filled with prose blocks, left-justified to right-justified to poet-justified.
So, yeah. Where angels fear to tread and not for the faint of heart (et and cetera). You really have to concentrate as you march across the lines and the dashes and the commas and (novelty)-->the-->right--> arrows (whose significance I shamefully admit to not getting).
Lots of word play, too, the kind an established, Pulitzer Prize-winner (pick 'em) can get away with / has earned.
For me, it broke down about to about halvsies. Some not worth it to me, anyway and others hitting the mark -- especially those about the deaths of her father and mother and about her own medical woes. Maybe they hit me because I am "of an age"(read: one close to the Classical Era without the high marks).
So, yeah. Where angels fear to tread and not for the faint of heart (et and cetera). You really have to concentrate as you march across the lines and the dashes and the commas and (novelty)-->the-->right--> arrows (whose significance I shamefully admit to not getting).
Lots of word play, too, the kind an established, Pulitzer Prize-winner (pick 'em) can get away with / has earned.
For me, it broke down about to about halvsies. Some not worth it to me, anyway and others hitting the mark -- especially those about the deaths of her father and mother and about her own medical woes. Maybe they hit me because I am "of an age"(read: one close to the Classical Era without the high marks).
December 30, 2016
Jorie Graham writes with a combination of density and stream-of-consciousness that is likely to unseat all but the most devoted readers of poetry. Warning: this is not where I would start if you are new to poetry!
But she once won the Pulitzer for her poems, and I think is worthy of the time to break through the word swirls, arrows, and bizarre line spacing.
Why is it that I encounter poets as they grapple with death and dying? Where are the newer poets, pondering love and loss? Or is death always the thing? I know Jorie Graham has recently received a cancer diagnosis, and while I'm not sure if she is still fighting it or not, surely her mortality as well as the death of her parents is an underyling current in these poems.
One of my favorites, Shroud, seems to be exploring the idea of the place of a woman's body after it ceases some of its functions that it is known for, after milk and motherhood, after blood that stains - and then it morphs into the bodily fluids that accompany death.
In Fast, the poet has encountered an AI which makes her face loneliness.
(Thanks to the publisher for granting early access via Edelweiss.)
But she once won the Pulitzer for her poems, and I think is worthy of the time to break through the word swirls, arrows, and bizarre line spacing.
Why is it that I encounter poets as they grapple with death and dying? Where are the newer poets, pondering love and loss? Or is death always the thing? I know Jorie Graham has recently received a cancer diagnosis, and while I'm not sure if she is still fighting it or not, surely her mortality as well as the death of her parents is an underyling current in these poems.
One of my favorites, Shroud, seems to be exploring the idea of the place of a woman's body after it ceases some of its functions that it is known for, after milk and motherhood, after blood that stains - and then it morphs into the bodily fluids that accompany death.
In Fast, the poet has encountered an AI which makes her face loneliness.
"He just gives it to me straight. I am going to keep himOther favorites: Self Portrait: May I Touch You and Prying.
forever. I treated him like a computer
but I was wrong. Whom am I talking to -
You talk to me when I am alone. I am alone.
Each epoch dreams the one to follow.
To dwell is to leave a trace.
I am not what I asked for."
(Thanks to the publisher for granting early access via Edelweiss.)
Read
June 3, 2022I was going to do some cheekiness of a one line review because it's blink-and-you'll-miss-it fast but sadly it's the other type of fasting.
She's really really good1!!! I'm going to find more xoxo
(immediately)
She's really really good1!!! I'm going to find more xoxo
(immediately)
February 7, 2019
Graham's hallmarks are here: complexity, stream-of-consciousness, and philosophical rumination. The inhuman and death become focal points--which makes some sense given that Graham was recovering from a cancer diagnosis at the time it was written. The variety of speakers can be dizzying here: Graham uses bots, a holy shroud, ocean floor, to a medium, and even corpses as the source of the narrative voice. Thematically, Graham pairs mortality with the speed of information and the dizzying way life can rush past even the most observant. In this speed, Graham encourages us to let go of narrativity: "She will finish her business and let go of the stories. The stories are an/ impediment." While some of Graham's use of alternating long lines paired with shorter evocative dropped lines, here Graham lets the poems unfold often into quite long lines and poems.
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May 10, 2021I didn't read this book through, nor did I give it the attention it undoubtedly merits.
The writing is quite challenging, and stylistically it feels as if it's breaking new ground.
I just wasn't in the mood for the sort of hard-hitting themes (dementia, illness, death, rape of the environment, post humanity, cryogenesis), approached from difficult positions. The title poem is about fasting, abstinence from food, not about going fast. Certainly not about fun. The poem about drag net trawling was written from the "persona" perspective of the ocean itself.
The three stars I was going to give this book would not have reflected the quality of the work. They would reflect my ability or willingness as a reader to continue to attentively read this type of writing at this time. I don't think it's a stretch to call it academic. It's an intellectual's poetry, putting the burden on the reader to follow language into places, positions, perspectives, affects and percepts that are a stretch, not because the writing calls on the reader's intellectual or cultural references, i.e. their knowledge of the history of poetry or literature, but because the poems push the boundaries of poetry into new and uncomfortable ground. Into arid and unhappy, disturbed and disturbing ground furrowed with probing language.
Jorie Graham makes Yuval Harari feel easy. He explains how our history landed us in post human times . She expects us to understand and be able to articulate how we feel about the the shit storm of our current alienation from ourselves, from our ordinary human feelings, or rather from our depleted ability to relate to what is happening to us, to society, to the dessication of our souls. Her sensitivity to what's happening has created this sensibility of hers that breaks new ground.
I want to read this book again at a later time, and then I may choose to rate it.
The writing is quite challenging, and stylistically it feels as if it's breaking new ground.
I just wasn't in the mood for the sort of hard-hitting themes (dementia, illness, death, rape of the environment, post humanity, cryogenesis), approached from difficult positions. The title poem is about fasting, abstinence from food, not about going fast. Certainly not about fun. The poem about drag net trawling was written from the "persona" perspective of the ocean itself.
The three stars I was going to give this book would not have reflected the quality of the work. They would reflect my ability or willingness as a reader to continue to attentively read this type of writing at this time. I don't think it's a stretch to call it academic. It's an intellectual's poetry, putting the burden on the reader to follow language into places, positions, perspectives, affects and percepts that are a stretch, not because the writing calls on the reader's intellectual or cultural references, i.e. their knowledge of the history of poetry or literature, but because the poems push the boundaries of poetry into new and uncomfortable ground. Into arid and unhappy, disturbed and disturbing ground furrowed with probing language.
Jorie Graham makes Yuval Harari feel easy. He explains how our history landed us in post human times . She expects us to understand and be able to articulate how we feel about the the shit storm of our current alienation from ourselves, from our ordinary human feelings, or rather from our depleted ability to relate to what is happening to us, to society, to the dessication of our souls. Her sensitivity to what's happening has created this sensibility of hers that breaks new ground.
I want to read this book again at a later time, and then I may choose to rate it.
April 24, 2018
Complexity in writing in all ways. This is going to be a book to indulge over time. I am overwhelmed by the range, variety, and rage.
November 23, 2018
Always interesting, always willing to try new things. Maybe not quite as good as her major period but still working away, resistant.
Read
August 23, 2023Sealey Challenge 2023
Book 22
Book 22
May 9, 2019
Damned good poetry, difficult as hell, but rich and vital and urgent. I finished the last poem MOTHER'S HANDS DRAWING ME listening to Public Image Ltd. and it made the cruelest sense. A kind of rage and nihilism seemed to erupt from the this final work that suggested she has some inkling of the final darkness awaiting us all. She's seen in the waning light of the eyes of her closest kin the mad throes of a system cannibalizing on itself, a system that thinks eternity can be fooled. But of course, it can't. Jorie knows we all hang by a thread, this little planet on some invisible string zipping across millennia in its nanosecond of joy. Exhilarated with realization. Deep beautiful work. But scary as shit. Read this. Marvel.
August 25, 2018
Brilliant, at times dark, always inventive (both in terms of form and content), Graham is a poet to read slowly, pensively, mindfully. "She will finish her business and let go of the stories. The stories are an/ impediment. You must be in them now, you tell me, but they are all string and/ knot, they catch you up--spilled blood--the love--the car is/ pushed--the time is right--your symbol, your scene, your out-/ come--how I wish I could pull you free, you say, there is above just right there/ above..."
June 15, 2019
Rating: 2 STARS
2017; Ecco/HarperCollins
(Review Not on Blog)
I cannot get into this poetry style so it was hard for me to read. I love free style and storytelling but this was hard to feel any emotion to.
***I received an eARC from EDELWEISS***
2017; Ecco/HarperCollins
(Review Not on Blog)
I cannot get into this poetry style so it was hard for me to read. I love free style and storytelling but this was hard to feel any emotion to.
***I received an eARC from EDELWEISS***
January 29, 2018
Very challenging, but rewarding and almost oppressively effective in its portrayal of the psychic weight of loss.
June 18, 2018
Fast was a dense and unusual book of poems. Not nearly so difficult as some of the experimental verse I've been reading recently, it still was characterized by a kind of obliqueness and formal inventiveness. Many poems shuttled between verse and prose, long lines and short lines; some had arrows in the text (I'm not really sure what to do with that, but it was an interesting move). The poems were about a wide variety of topics, including the state of the environment, what read like a bout of cancer, something that might have had to do with surgery or a radical shift in identity of a loved one, troubled relationships with family and more.
The poems didn't stick terribly strongly for me, but they all felt well-crafted and intriguing, like the very first poem, "Ashes," which begins:
There was no poem I didn't like, although few I loved. My favorites were "Ashes", "The Medium", "Deep Water Trawling", "Shroud", "We", "From Inside the MRI", and "Cryo". I wish I had purchased this, instead of borrowing it from the library, because it would be really nice to spend more time with this--a book meant to be examined, rather than just read.
The poems didn't stick terribly strongly for me, but they all felt well-crafted and intriguing, like the very first poem, "Ashes," which begins:
Manacled to a whelm. Asked the plants to give me my small identity. No, the planets.The poems of Fast were somewhat overwhelming; I'm having trouble picking portions to quote because I feel like I can't encapsulate the experience unless I'm giving you whole poems that often stretch four or five or more pages with long lines and wide pages and dense text--"The Medium" looses something when you don't have all of it, though I can show you the sort of work it is if I tell you that the first line is "Lethe--river of unmindfulness--what am I to forget now--forget sweetheart--and" and the next line is "I wake--and", with the "I" under the "w" in "now", but I'm not going to be able to do this for the entirety of the five-page-long poem.
The arcing runners, their orbit entrails waving, and a worm on a leaf, mold, bells, a
bower--everything transitioning--unfolding--emptying into a bit more life cell by
There was no poem I didn't like, although few I loved. My favorites were "Ashes", "The Medium", "Deep Water Trawling", "Shroud", "We", "From Inside the MRI", and "Cryo". I wish I had purchased this, instead of borrowing it from the library, because it would be really nice to spend more time with this--a book meant to be examined, rather than just read.
April 9, 2019
Simpleton that I am, it seems all I can do is gaze upon the works of the literati and wonder. Or cock an eyebrow. Or jeer a bit...
The poetry reviewer for the NYTimes bethought him- or herself to describe Fast as a book that "explodes[!]" the "feel-good myth of American democracy," one that (cue breathlessness) is about the "nature of social life in the 21st century, a book in which past and future unfold in 'every cell' across the vast space of a few words." The reviewer for the London Magazine was literally "swept off [his/her] feet" by the "passionate and overwhelming nature of Graham's undertaking."
Passionate maybe. Incoherent definitely. If Fast 'explodes' anything it's the myth that obscurity = profundity and that poetic talent is obviously to be found in the Ivies' hallowed halls. Far from sweeping this reader off his feet, Fast alternately confused, tired, and annoyed me. If the poems in this collection had anything at all to do with the myth of American democracy, feel-good or otherwise, you got me. Happy to display my profound ignorance to all professional (paid-per-word) and passionate amateur reviewers and cop to the fact that I could barely make sense of any of the poetry in Fast. And I fast lost interest in trying to.
For all the wordplay, the gimmicky typesetting, and the opacity in this book -- owing to the obvious effort it took to create and the fact that it is, I'm sure, a labor of writerly love, I grudgingly award a second star. But I can't really imagine who the intended reader of Fast is. Whatever JG's intent in writing this book, Ecco's in publishing it, and the Timeses of the world in gushingly reviewing it -- Fast strikes me as a colossally pretentious, solipsistic and turgid piece of work. It couldn't have impressed me less.
The poetry reviewer for the NYTimes bethought him- or herself to describe Fast as a book that "explodes[!]" the "feel-good myth of American democracy," one that (cue breathlessness) is about the "nature of social life in the 21st century, a book in which past and future unfold in 'every cell' across the vast space of a few words." The reviewer for the London Magazine was literally "swept off [his/her] feet" by the "passionate and overwhelming nature of Graham's undertaking."
Passionate maybe. Incoherent definitely. If Fast 'explodes' anything it's the myth that obscurity = profundity and that poetic talent is obviously to be found in the Ivies' hallowed halls. Far from sweeping this reader off his feet, Fast alternately confused, tired, and annoyed me. If the poems in this collection had anything at all to do with the myth of American democracy, feel-good or otherwise, you got me. Happy to display my profound ignorance to all professional (paid-per-word) and passionate amateur reviewers and cop to the fact that I could barely make sense of any of the poetry in Fast. And I fast lost interest in trying to.
For all the wordplay, the gimmicky typesetting, and the opacity in this book -- owing to the obvious effort it took to create and the fact that it is, I'm sure, a labor of writerly love, I grudgingly award a second star. But I can't really imagine who the intended reader of Fast is. Whatever JG's intent in writing this book, Ecco's in publishing it, and the Timeses of the world in gushingly reviewing it -- Fast strikes me as a colossally pretentious, solipsistic and turgid piece of work. It couldn't have impressed me less.
April 3, 2025
An acquaintance the poetry in this book as "dense and complex." Yes. I think I've discovered that I'm no longer able to do dense and complex. I did read the entire book because I was sure that the level of dissociation in the first part of the book must evolve into something. And it does but I'm not sure the length of time she keeps us in suspension is justified. I flat out don't get why it was chosen for the Pulitzer.
What I do get is that the book is about grief and dissolution. The poems appear to be in response to the death of her father and what I'm guessing was the dementia of her mother. Graham seems to go through her own illness (perhaps cancer) as well during the course of the book.
Here is a bit from "Honeycomb," page 4 of the book:
They are needs. They are purchases and invoices. They are not what shattered the silence. Not revolutions clocks navigational tools. Have beginnings and ends. Therefore not true. Have sign-offs. I have set out again now with a new missive. Feel this: my broken seduction. My tiny visit to the other. Busy. Temporary. In the screen there is a sea. Your fiber optic cables line its floor. Entire. Ghost juice.
It goes on and on and on and is characteristic of the first section of the book, which is seventeen pages. Through much of the book I'm not sure if there are line breaks or not and so I didn't render the one above as having line breaks. It's a dense block of text as well as dense with things that barely hold together if at all.
I confess wholeheartedly that I need something easier and more pleasant to read these days after work. Maybe I need to find myself some Disney poetry
What I do get is that the book is about grief and dissolution. The poems appear to be in response to the death of her father and what I'm guessing was the dementia of her mother. Graham seems to go through her own illness (perhaps cancer) as well during the course of the book.
Here is a bit from "Honeycomb," page 4 of the book:
They are needs. They are purchases and invoices. They are not what shattered the silence. Not revolutions clocks navigational tools. Have beginnings and ends. Therefore not true. Have sign-offs. I have set out again now with a new missive. Feel this: my broken seduction. My tiny visit to the other. Busy. Temporary. In the screen there is a sea. Your fiber optic cables line its floor. Entire. Ghost juice.
It goes on and on and on and is characteristic of the first section of the book, which is seventeen pages. Through much of the book I'm not sure if there are line breaks or not and so I didn't render the one above as having line breaks. It's a dense block of text as well as dense with things that barely hold together if at all.
I confess wholeheartedly that I need something easier and more pleasant to read these days after work. Maybe I need to find myself some Disney poetry
March 18, 2020
I somehow had never read a Jorie Graham book before this, and probably hadn't read even a handful of individual poems, so I'm not really qualified to say if all Graham's work would disappoint me as much as this book did, or of this is just an unusually bad book. But her style, this piling up of both everyday flotsam and also of received language is the kind of thing I usually admire, and throw in references to continental philosophy and I'm there, if confused.
But somehow, this really rubbed me the wrong way. It all felt curdled, and so far away from what I'm interested in poetry doing, which is torquing language in some way that elevates it, that uses that attention to look at something closely. This book, and its stacks of verbiage, made me want to look away. There are some moving poems about being with her dad when he dies, but even in those poems, which are kind of stereotypical lyrics, her weird obsessions and tics disrupt from the experience of reading the poems.
A hard pass for me.
But somehow, this really rubbed me the wrong way. It all felt curdled, and so far away from what I'm interested in poetry doing, which is torquing language in some way that elevates it, that uses that attention to look at something closely. This book, and its stacks of verbiage, made me want to look away. There are some moving poems about being with her dad when he dies, but even in those poems, which are kind of stereotypical lyrics, her weird obsessions and tics disrupt from the experience of reading the poems.
A hard pass for me.
November 14, 2018
This year I have been on a bit of a poetry kick, trying to immerse myself in this difficult genre. I have read some really good collections and some okay ones, but I hadn’t read one that I actively disliked. Until this collection that is. For a genre that oftentimes reads very quick, Ms. Graham’s poetry is incredibly long. Each poem could be several pages long with crap-ton of words on each page, which is unusual compared to other collections I have read so far. Now, this in and of itself wouldn’t be bad if the poems had some discernible them or purpose. But Ms. Graham’s doesn’t appear to have any. Each poem bounces from one subject to another, sometimes very quickly, giving me a sense of thematic whiplash. And there appears to be no discernible poetic style in these poems other than to be really long. The result is an alphabet soup of words that has no clear meaning or purpose. Other, more serious poetry readers may see something in this collection to enjoy, but I did not.
July 13, 2021
A bit harsh giving this three stars I think but I perhaps want to diversify my score ranges and also more get across the feeling of how I rate this book rather than an objective appraisal of quality. Like it's an extremem struggle to read a lot of the taime although it is very rewarding, but even in its rewardingness it didn't really have any of those things that I've really liked about Jorie Graham's poetry previously so I felt I didn't get out of it what I was coming to it for. I mean objectively it is still really really good and does do some incredible things, particularly say with time and (idea of the) the present moment but idk idk. Like there were neither any bits where I felt like my brain was coneected to and at one with the poem like with PLACE nor any killer standout lines or phrasings like with The Errancy. A bit unfair perhaps but so it goes.
October 31, 2023
A strong collection of Graham's that really effectively uses her fairly established formal style to evoke disintegration, ruin, and dissolving boundaries, whether ecological, bodily, or technological. The poems on death in particular have a really compelling tension between the speaker wanting to remain frozen in time, to reach back to the moment of life, but Graham's syntax and composition really drive home the relentless, rapid movement of time forward, leaving one frantically grasping at what's left. She gets a bit too deep into her own wordplay at times, drawing associative connections that feel more like purely wordplay for the sake of it, but I liked the collection overall enough that it didn't rub me the wrong way - if you can 't do that in poetry, where can you do it
September 5, 2018
Given to me by a friend who I think may have had difficulty with this unusual poetry. I found it necessary to read only one poem at a time, and then to go back over the poem again, loosely letting images cross into and out of mind. It probably gets easier to read with more familiarity - and perhaps it is better to start with an earlier volume. This set of poems deals closely with the decline and approaching death of her parents, a topic that seems quite painful.
These poems made me remember how glad I am to have been able to create a haven of calm and safety for my husband's last few months. My dying-days poetry has none of the agony that is so evident in these words.
These poems made me remember how glad I am to have been able to create a haven of calm and safety for my husband's last few months. My dying-days poetry has none of the agony that is so evident in these words.
August 12, 2017
The first section of the book was hard to get the hang of with its stream of consciousness form, but after getting into the second section, it was much easier to decipher. There is a lot of depth in this collection and it was a nice change to the poetry I regularly read. I would like to read more of her work and see where she came from in the development of this style. I will be sharing this with my creative writing class to see what they think and show them another form of poetry.
October 3, 2017
These poems about a variety of subjects ranging from the last days of the author’s parents� lives to a dystopian vision of the earth and its environment read in many instances like lyrics for a rap song. Much of the poetry is written in a stream of consciousness and lacks the polish of traditional poetry. Therefore, the imagery can be offsetting at times, and at other times it makes it difficult to interpret and ascertain the author’s meaning.
March 6, 2018
I couldn't get on board with her writing style. Though she does have some interesting lines. Topics include technology, her parents, and a hospital visit.
Favorites:
"Honeycomb"
"Fast"
I miss the toolbar I miss the menu I miss the place where one could push delete
- "Shroud"
all darkness knocked like ash from the celestial cigarette of the
tired god
- "The Medium"
Favorites:
"Honeycomb"
"Fast"
I miss the toolbar I miss the menu I miss the place where one could push delete
- "Shroud"
all darkness knocked like ash from the celestial cigarette of the
tired god
- "The Medium"
Read
January 5, 2019Such a wonderful book with which to begin the year. The ambiguities suggested by the title (I.e., ‘moving quickly� and ‘going without�) are beautifully explored. The poems about her mother and father are quite sensational. Make no mistake - this is not ‘easy� poetry nor is it so immediately appealing as some of the classics of the Romantic era. However, neither did Keats write bound to suspicions as to the nature of language. Repeated readings yield profound rewards.
January 7, 2022
The first of her many collections I've read, so I can't compare to others, but I swear to God this woman is some kind of spirit-reflection of me. I read her and it's like I'm reading my own higher self/unconscious or something. Her poetry captures the form and experience of how I experience the divine/transcendent/God (in the moment, not in reflection) in a way nothing else I've ever encountered has.
October 6, 2024
"An iridescence—a crazed green—out the kitchen window, spreading *forever.*"
Aptly titled. Not for me. Graham's breathless voice suits her topics � grief, climate change, technology, living in late stage capitalism � but makes for difficult and exhausting reading. It's a lot of work (and often thematically quite negative), and unlike some other challenging poets I've read in the past, it doesn't feel "worth it" to me to dig through the overwhelm for meaning or revelation.
Aptly titled. Not for me. Graham's breathless voice suits her topics � grief, climate change, technology, living in late stage capitalism � but makes for difficult and exhausting reading. It's a lot of work (and often thematically quite negative), and unlike some other challenging poets I've read in the past, it doesn't feel "worth it" to me to dig through the overwhelm for meaning or revelation.
June 15, 2020
4.5 // this collection pushed my brain so hard in every direction. each phrase is intentional, probably need at least 2 more rereads to understand & appreciate every turn and smart double/triple meaning word
December 27, 2024
there is no room to breathe and the em dashes and arrows and everything don't even push you forward to anything new or exciting-- just more words on words on words that sort of sometimes mean something. i cannot stand collections that never vary in form, and this did not change my opinion.
May 26, 2017
Graham's poems put me in a trance. They keep expanding and floating and forming and shifting.
Read
November 15, 2020[read most, not all]
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