Homie
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- ¥1,200
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- ¥1,200
発行者による作品情報
'A deeply personal collection... and provocative and moving meditation on friendship, sex and blackness,' Guardian
'In its cutting compassion, Homie is as much a celebration of loved ones' lives as it is a lament for their loss, equally a war cry for kinship and the burial dirge after the battle' Amanda Gorman
A mighty anthem about the saving grace of friendship, Danez Smith's highly anticipated collection Homie is rooted in their search for joy and intimacy in a time where both are scarce. In poems of rare power and generosity, Smith acknowledges that in a country overrun by violence, xenophobia and disparity, and in a body defined by race, queerness, and diagnosis, it can be hard to survive, even harder to remember reasons for living. But then the phone lights up, or a shout comes up to the window, and family - blood and chosen - arrives with just the right food and some redemption.
Part friendship diary, part bright elegy, part war cry, Homie is written for friends: for Danez's friends, for yours.
'This is a book full of the turbulence of thought and desire, piloted by a writer who never loses their way' New York Times
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Smith (Don't Call Us Dead) presents an electrifying, unabashedly queer ode to friendship and community in their exuberant and mournful second collection. Smith alternates colloquial and lofty language, often within the same poem, and eschews most punctuation and grammatical strictures. In "ode to gold teeth," the poet writes of their grandfather, "gold gate of grandpa's holler/ midas touch his blue hum/ honeymetal perfuming prayers," later referring to him as the "OG of the gin sermon & front-porch pulpit." These poems are a celebration of black culture and experience, and a condemnation of white supremacy and its effect; in "dogs!," Smith excoriates racist dehumanization: "i too been called boy & expected/ to come, heel." In "sometimes i wish i felt the side effects," Smith explores conflicting feelings related to an HIV diagnosis simultaneous devastation and relief ("it felt like i got it out the way, to finally know it"), acceptance, and shame ("i braved the stupidest ocean. a man. i waded in his stupid waters"). The collection's final poem, "acknowledgments," is a beautiful love poem to a best friend, one that is as heartfelt as it is quotable: "if luck calls your name, we split the pot/ & if you wither, surely i rot." Smith is a visionary polyglot with a fearless voice.
