& thanks to YEW journal for publishing 3 chapters from Sin in Wilderness. Here is one of the chapters, "The Way."
also, here are some picture of some borage that I planted -- first in February, and then in April
Showing posts with label after-cave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label after-cave. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
New Review of After-Cave in Kenyon Review Online & 3 chapters from Sin in Wilderness in YEW
Many thanks to M.P. Jones IV for this beautiful new review of After-Cave in the Kenyon Review Online.
& thanks to YEW journal for publishing 3 chapters from Sin in Wilderness. Here is one of the chapters, "The Way."
also, here are some picture of some borage that I planted -- first in February, and then in April
& thanks to YEW journal for publishing 3 chapters from Sin in Wilderness. Here is one of the chapters, "The Way."
also, here are some picture of some borage that I planted -- first in February, and then in April
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Another review, New Poem, & After-Cave on December SPD Poetry Bestsellers list!
Rob McLennan wrote a thoughtful review of After-Cave
My poem "The River" (an erasure from the book-length erasure The Sin in Wilderness) is in the wonderful new issue of 17seconds
&
I'm so excited that After-Cave in on the December SPD Poetry Bestsellers list!
also, I'm *so* into this customer review of After-Cave posted on Amazon.
My poem "The River" (an erasure from the book-length erasure The Sin in Wilderness) is in the wonderful new issue of 17seconds
&
I'm so excited that After-Cave in on the December SPD Poetry Bestsellers list!
also, I'm *so* into this customer review of After-Cave posted on Amazon.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Two Reviews and an Interview
TWO new reviews in the latest issue of GALATEA RESURRECTS (#23)JOHN BLOOMBERG-RISSMAN ReviewsAfter-Cave by Michelle Detorie(Ahsahta Press, Boise, ID, 2014)&EILEEN TABIOS EngagesAFTER-CAVE by Michelle Detorie
AFTER CAVE by MICHELLE DETORIE (2)
Sunday, November 09, 2014
Sunday, November 02, 2014
After-Cave at SPD
After-Cave germinates in a space that is
desolate and dangerous. It invites the reader to nestle in the narrator’s skin
as a movement towards livability is recorded. The words collect on the
speaker’s dermis, galvanically; groggily we awake in the eyes of a girl,
fifteen, perhaps animal and perhaps human, maybe alive and possibly dead. A
hybrid text, After-Cave contains
poems and fragments, sentences and paragraphs, experiments in sound and syntax,
as well as visual poetry and cartographies. Language moves over the speaker
like weather systems and migratory birds, troubling notions of linear time and
traversing the spaces of human-made and "natural" disaster. More
pressing than hunger is the need to know what “cruelty” means and how one might
live in its absence, a series of torsions that displace us from a surface and
convey us to its underside, which is to say that After-Cave is a book about the impossible. How to make the impossible hospitable, and
thereby, in one’s way, to prepare oneself to meet one’s friends: human, animal,
the always alive and the already-dead. A feminist, feral-poetic odyssey,
purring and covered in mud. The words pace themselves on cave time. The better
to welcome an encounter that changes us as we wish to be changed.
Thursday, October 02, 2014
I got reviewed!!!
http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-934103-54-8
Detorie extracts a poetics "against dying" out of a landscape of ruin and wilderness in this spirited full-length debut. The book comprises three long sequences concerning questions of shelter, destruction, and agency, which, though formally mercurial, remain linked through a single speaker who describes herself as "15. Female. Human (I think)." Materiality becomes a place of confluence for the bodily and the external universe, the man-made and the feral: "we are skin, snow, unpacked/ boxes opened like petals, skin// ... I held a line, a pail, my pockets/ becoming full, the moon/ blood red and lined with fur." The poems remain grounded in the subjective "I" but resist a linear sense of time, leading instead by sensation and image, and sometimes using formatting and typography to invite the reader into an unconventional experience of text, page, and physical book. This sense of play is punctuated by moments of direct assertion. "To insist that something—someone or some being—cannot be imagined is, in fact, its own form of oppression," Detorie writes. Indeed, her poetics struggles against such insistence in service of possibility. Where "The failure to occupy/ breaks apart like soap/ sand salt all/ the things we need/ to name," Detorie wrests a vocabulary of compassion. (Sept.)
Detorie extracts a poetics "against dying" out of a landscape of ruin and wilderness in this spirited full-length debut. The book comprises three long sequences concerning questions of shelter, destruction, and agency, which, though formally mercurial, remain linked through a single speaker who describes herself as "15. Female. Human (I think)." Materiality becomes a place of confluence for the bodily and the external universe, the man-made and the feral: "we are skin, snow, unpacked/ boxes opened like petals, skin// ... I held a line, a pail, my pockets/ becoming full, the moon/ blood red and lined with fur." The poems remain grounded in the subjective "I" but resist a linear sense of time, leading instead by sensation and image, and sometimes using formatting and typography to invite the reader into an unconventional experience of text, page, and physical book. This sense of play is punctuated by moments of direct assertion. "To insist that something—someone or some being—cannot be imagined is, in fact, its own form of oppression," Detorie writes. Indeed, her poetics struggles against such insistence in service of possibility. Where "The failure to occupy/ breaks apart like soap/ sand salt all/ the things we need/ to name," Detorie wrests a vocabulary of compassion. (Sept.)
After-Cave!!!!!
https://ahsahtapress.org/product/after-cave/
After-Cave
Michelle Detorie
After-Cave is the narration of “an adolescent female who may or may not be human,” an odyssey feral, feminist, and ecopoetical. More pressing than hunger for this speaker is the need to know what “cruelty” means and how one might live in its absence. In this way,After-Cave is a book about the impossible and how to make it hospitable, and thereby prepare oneself to meet one’s friends: human, animal, the always alive and the already dead. Using language that moves over the speaker like weather systems and migratory birds, troubling notions of linear time and traversing the spaces of human-made and “natural” disaster, Detorie in this first book introduces us to the distinction between a state of being and an act of being.
“Michelle Detorie betrays the false presumptions of our times to vivify and reinhabit the very spaces they have denied and marred. However ‘marred’ is language already discarded here. Without old-fashioned judgment, she sets us inside her testimony, which is a scored preamble, an alchemical cartography, girl-spirited and dense with data, all-atune. The book’s dystopian ferocity and knowledge make its bearings even as it trembles with a deep and feral hope. Hers is the tenderest, the most specific report.” —Elizabeth Treadwell .
“Like Helen Adam before her, Detorie sings this afterlife-life, often via attention to noise, meaning that ‘voice’ here picks up some unnatural instruments: ‘Tumbleweeds or / teeth? [ . . . ] Fur / for a mouth.’ I make my way through After-Cave as I’d enter a woods where ‘the trees have decided to grow underground’—certain that finding my feet will involve a death to one nature or another. In this kind of apocalypse, it’s the ideology of ‘the natural’ that’s haunting the house—not any actual fact of organisms. Or (if you like ghosts) maybe it’s the natural’s propensity for systematic violence that leaves us with such fiery spectral lives.” —C.J. Martin .
“Michelle Detorie writes through the animal to reach another place; there, we encounter ‘reluctance,’ ‘kindness,’ trailing ‘ribbons.’ I was very moved by the link Detorie makes between feral life and the ecology of shelter. As she writes: ‘Digging underground, I disrupted homes that did not belong to me but wound deep and tethered together.’ How this profound non-belonging is in relation, always, to the sensation of touch when it comes; touch that in After-Cave precipitates encounter, like the stages of soft palate growth and experiment that precede language: ‘Your hand like a little lock reached through—.’ What a tender and complicated book for someone to write. A book that is ‘silky, frayed, gleaming: a continuance.’ A book that hurts a little bit to read. A book saturated in the kind of longing a girl might typically not admit; a desire, in other words, that starts to change the outline of the body: ‘my glass jaw bobbing.’ The intensity also lies in the way Detorie takes us close to what is not us and what will change us to be with in another way, across the species frame: ‘I thought of taking off my clothes and sleeping with the wolf.’ Communal, imaginal, soft—the book goes on and takes us further in, until we reach the ‘meadows still blue with the asphalt glitter that rained down.’ And get to go. And get to lie down.”
—Bhanu Kapil
Michelle Detorie
After-Cave is the narration of “an adolescent female who may or may not be human,” an odyssey feral, feminist, and ecopoetical. More pressing than hunger for this speaker is the need to know what “cruelty” means and how one might live in its absence. In this way,After-Cave is a book about the impossible and how to make it hospitable, and thereby prepare oneself to meet one’s friends: human, animal, the always alive and the already dead. Using language that moves over the speaker like weather systems and migratory birds, troubling notions of linear time and traversing the spaces of human-made and “natural” disaster, Detorie in this first book introduces us to the distinction between a state of being and an act of being.
“Michelle Detorie betrays the false presumptions of our times to vivify and reinhabit the very spaces they have denied and marred. However ‘marred’ is language already discarded here. Without old-fashioned judgment, she sets us inside her testimony, which is a scored preamble, an alchemical cartography, girl-spirited and dense with data, all-atune. The book’s dystopian ferocity and knowledge make its bearings even as it trembles with a deep and feral hope. Hers is the tenderest, the most specific report.” —Elizabeth Treadwell .
“Like Helen Adam before her, Detorie sings this afterlife-life, often via attention to noise, meaning that ‘voice’ here picks up some unnatural instruments: ‘Tumbleweeds or / teeth? [ . . . ] Fur / for a mouth.’ I make my way through After-Cave as I’d enter a woods where ‘the trees have decided to grow underground’—certain that finding my feet will involve a death to one nature or another. In this kind of apocalypse, it’s the ideology of ‘the natural’ that’s haunting the house—not any actual fact of organisms. Or (if you like ghosts) maybe it’s the natural’s propensity for systematic violence that leaves us with such fiery spectral lives.” —C.J. Martin .
“Michelle Detorie writes through the animal to reach another place; there, we encounter ‘reluctance,’ ‘kindness,’ trailing ‘ribbons.’ I was very moved by the link Detorie makes between feral life and the ecology of shelter. As she writes: ‘Digging underground, I disrupted homes that did not belong to me but wound deep and tethered together.’ How this profound non-belonging is in relation, always, to the sensation of touch when it comes; touch that in After-Cave precipitates encounter, like the stages of soft palate growth and experiment that precede language: ‘Your hand like a little lock reached through—.’ What a tender and complicated book for someone to write. A book that is ‘silky, frayed, gleaming: a continuance.’ A book that hurts a little bit to read. A book saturated in the kind of longing a girl might typically not admit; a desire, in other words, that starts to change the outline of the body: ‘my glass jaw bobbing.’ The intensity also lies in the way Detorie takes us close to what is not us and what will change us to be with in another way, across the species frame: ‘I thought of taking off my clothes and sleeping with the wolf.’ Communal, imaginal, soft—the book goes on and takes us further in, until we reach the ‘meadows still blue with the asphalt glitter that rained down.’ And get to go. And get to lie down.”
—Bhanu Kapil
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
