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In this extremely far-ranging interview of the long-form variety, the author of Women In Marigold talks about her practice, many of the poems in the collection, themes, her novels, fiction vs poetry, pressures and representation, Nepal, poetics, history, geneology, spirituality and faith, poetic mentorship, and so much more!
With the subject and object of Dahal’s poems fluctuating so often, it’s impressive how consistently she remains grounded in them. Her preference for plain assertions carries the firmness of an Oriana Fallaci interview, oratory with bite. Just as the line breaking into “me manipulative. A woman” summarizes the exhaustion of this poem, summarizing single images abound in others.
As a playscript, the body of Crux is its dialogue, split between the hallucinatory discourse of Sand’s fellow activists and the people around him in the prison. Each character’s personality feels natural, with a nuanced approach to their thoughts that keeps their perspective distinct from one another.
So, speaking of words, why the title of Abider? When I see that word I always think of that movie with Jeff Bridges, The Big Lebowski, and the phrase it made popular, “The dude abides.” He accepts life as it comes at him. He endures. You intuit something of that attitude in Melissa Crowe.
The poems in Rupture Anthem chronicle one woman’s quest for personal independence in the face of so many obstacles. The daughter of Pakistani foreign workers in Saudi Arabia, she experiences both sexual repression from strict patriarchal Islamic clerics, in educational settings, and the exploitation of migrant workers that her family endures.
A meditation on embodiment, desire, and the ineffability of language, Cohen braids scenic vignettes, text message transcripts, and literary theory with mesmerizing sensuality. She parses her insecurities covertly in iPhone transcripts where she narrates existential feelings, attachments, her own favorite body parts, and her dislike (the word “dick” is used) of Jonathan Franzen.
Shelf Life is a finely written book, so polished and confident in its voice that it’s difficult to believe it’s Hemat Malak’s first collection. The work balances a self-reflection that feels very human and open with a wry expansiveness that isn’t afraid to laugh, cry, or reinvent itself.
The author’s name is new to me, I am surprised to admit, because Cox’s goofy, solipsistic clowning short stories (some no more than a paragraph) are so captivating. You are guaranteed to read and giggle or skim and smile. At least a number of celebrated writers who have read Cox have done just that.
There are several narrative threads and poetic refrains that twist in and out of the narrative as we move through the arc of this unnamed mind in the mine. Sometimes he is pragmatic and precise, working through his dilemma in logical steps, and sometimes he’s feverish and wild. I found the writing and the way in which it traveled through time and space, history, trauma, love and loss to be haunting and yet surprisingly compelling.
Sedia has the unique gift of employing what I call “Zingers”— a combination or interplay or juxtaposition of words which are so unique and unusual (and unusually good) that they just pop out at you. Not only is Sedia a careful, measured poet with extremely fine and precise diction, but he manages to combine commonly-used words in uncommon ways in addition to the “Zingers”, which elevate his writing to a whole new level.