Trans
Poems
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- $13.99
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- $13.99
Publisher Description
This elegant and moving collection of poems grew out of Hilda Raz’s experience with her son’s journey to a transgender identity. Born Sarah, now Aaron, Raz’s child has had a profound impact on her understanding of what it means to be a family, to be whole, and to know oneself. The collection moves between past and present, allowing Raz to reflect on her own childhood and on her experience with breast cancer to find ways to connect with Aaron. The journey takes us from intimacy to strangeness and back again, from denial to humor to grief and rage, but always laced with love and acceptance.
“Trans” means across, through, over, to or on the other side, and beyond. This book documents some major transformations of body, self, society, and spirit that art requires and life allows. The poems are accessible and finely wrought. They are equally testaments to Raz’s insistence on making an order out of chaos, of finding ways to create and understand and eventually accept new definitions of self and family. The physical and sensuous language of Raz’s poems, and their humanity, keep them intimately bound to the world and to the senses.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Raz's varied and serious new collection plays a range of styles while sticking closely to the poet's life. About half the volume describes Raz's troubled, but finally heartwarming, experience with her daughter "Sarah," who changed her sex to become Raz's adult son "Aaron." Other poems examine Raz's extended family she is especially good on the very old (in a shocking poem set in a nursing home) and on maternity and childbirth. Raz (Divine Honors) has long taught English at the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, where she edits the journal Prairie Schooner; some vivid verse describes the Nebraska landscape and its hardscrabble citizens. Whether she writes of Aaron or Sarah, funerals or fields, Raz's tone remains sincere and open: "Nothing to explain, no shield," she writes, "of paperthin skin between history and the untender world." Raz employs, among other devices, the hortatory intimacy of '70s confessionalism; the expansive verse-paragraphs of an Albert Goldbarth or a Deborah Digges; and a more disjunctive approach, often expressed in couplets or short prose poems. Many lines seem over-the-top; some are mawkish: "you, for all we've been through,/ are identical genetically to the daughter you were." Raz does better with terser, harsher verse, as in "Doing the Puzzle/Angry Voices," where "Every book that documents birth/ puts on to gender a meaning./ That piece of the junco tree is filled with sparrows." Always articulate and sometimes well-crafted, the volume relies too heavily on its subjects, yet its pleasures, like its concerns, are genuine.
