Status Pending - Softcover

Blevins, Adrian

 
9781954245723: Status Pending

Inhaltsangabe

A riotous yet deceptively serious addition to Adrian Blevins’ oeuvre, Status Pending exquisitely leverages the lyric to fathom the liminality of human experience. These poems comprise a stenography of our lives as the buffering consciousness between voided states. Blevins straddles various faultlines as a woman who writes and mothers, who emerges from a second divorce as an Appalachian transplant in New England, who sees from midlife the stringent but unspoken socioeconomic strata framing class conflict. If marriage “was a rope across a twilight abyss (an abscess),” if aging brings the hateful labels “OUT OF ORDER / & LATE FEE,” every disappointment uncovers rejuvenating clarity. “Bereavement status” engenders both heartbreak and hope, somehow, as “then you lose your losses.” Blevins triumphs in her reclamation of the spectacular in the mundane. “America is a flub. // A hack. A crime! America, fuck you for making // despondent bandits of us — / for blinding & hooding // & chaining & gagging us.” Even perched on shifting tectonic plates, Blevins wins the last word: “You don’t seem to know it, // but there are foxes / crossing meadows // out there fast as disco lights. There are loons on your lakes.” Amen.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Adrian Blevins is the author of three previous full-length collections of poetry—Appalachians Run Amok, Live from the Homesick Jamboree, and The Brass Girl Brouhaha—and, with co-editor Karen Salyer McElmurray, Walk Till the Dogs Get Mean, a collection of essays by new and emerging Appalachian writers. She is the recipient of many awards and honors including the Wilder Prize from Two Sylvias Press, a Kate Tufts Discovery Award, and a Rona Jaffe Writer’s Foundation Award. She is a professor of English at Colby College in Waterville, Maine, where she directs the Creative Writing Program.

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Flight Status 

Left for me the ash to heave. Left the lash. 

Left the sieve. Left the chime.

Left the wren. Left the rain. Left an ache. 
Left me dragged

& left me rucking. Left such legroom 
he left me a crypt!

& blew out the stamens okay 
& blew out the sap

until finally I got it that he, 
leaving, left even the milk

our babies spilled
like a veil across the decades

like he left me counting 
how much airspace

we had to cross
to get to the end of it

like he left me to say
how it was to stand over so much slope

to know to be airborne
which is what I am knowing

plus we’re all just vapor 
plus a balefire

& to wake up motherfucker 
& to hew it.

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