The Cupped Field (Able Muse Book Award)
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- $17.99
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- $17.99
Publisher Description
In The Cupped Field, Deirdre O’Connor keenly observes both the commonplace and the unusual, finding disturbing and transcendental aspects in either. O’Connor delights with her insight, her power of metaphor, her lyrical voice, and the range and interconnectivity of her subjects in this winner of the 2018 Able Muse Book Award. Surprises abound in this collection of free and subtly formal verse.
PRAISE FOR THE CUPPED FIELD
Reading Deirdre O’Connor’s poems can feel like watching a sunset from a darkening forest where you are not quite sure if you are lost. There is that kind of sublime in them: an intimate, luminous lyric voice acknowledging a world in which we can never be sure we are oriented as we think we are. Written with great compassion, precision, and nuance, these gorgeously made poems face into the heartbreaks of time and loss, of selves and ex-selves. They loosen vision from its nostalgias, and “shake/ the cobbled order of ground,/ so silence [can] be heard/ clearly again.”
—Mary Szybist, author of Incarnadine
The Cupped Field shares with us the experience of loss, while also reminding us of the anniversaries we might celebrate of the days when those we love did not die. Here is a poet who knows that the mind is complex, a map of many countries, in some of which people are starving. The poet tells us that the mind resides in the brain, which is held in the skull, “the darkest place in the body,” yet it is “buoyant inside,/ thinking it swims/ in regions beyond itself.”
—Marilyn Nelson, 2018 Able Muse Book Award judge, author of Faster Than Light
The Cupped Field is a highly accomplished, powerful collection, one in which poem after poem astonishes with its clarity of language, thought, and feeling. I am in awe of this poet for many reasons but especially the way she charts a direct line between the mind that takes in the world, in all its beauty and tragedy, and the ethical voice that speaks out of that witness.
—Shara McCallum, author of Madwoman
These are not just good poems. They are spells. How is she able to do it? Perhaps because she knows that loneliness, for a lyric poet, is not just a state of being; it comes with a purpose. What is that purpose? To hear among “mind’s countries” the music. What kind of music? That of mystery. Deirdre O’Connor is an exquisite lyric poet.
—Ilya Kaminsky, author of Deaf Republic
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Deirdre O’Connor’s first book, Before the Blue Hour, received the Cleveland State Poetry Center Prize. Her work has appeared in Poetry, Crazyhorse, Cave Wall, and other journals, and she has been awarded residencies at the Vermont Studio Center and the Heinrich Boll Cottage in Ireland. She directs the Writing Center at Bucknell University, where she also serves as Associate Director of the Bucknell Seminar for Undergraduate Poets. A native of Pittsburgh, she lives in Central Pennsylvania.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Readers will need to quiet themselves as they lean into the hushed subtlety of O'Connor's formally precise second collection (after Before the Blue Hour). The book reflects a sensibility of belatedness: "What is the word for not having been/ in the room, for missing the turn?" Elsewhere, a car-struck doe lies dying, "awash... in glass and fur," while the poem resolves with Dickinson-ian imagery: "the ocean// closing over, its great rolling horses/ corralled, a finger of sun/ holding the horizon down." In such moments, the poet calls into question the very conditions that make possible the tranquility from which emotion is recollected: "this now,/ no, this now,/ which, when I write it down,/ becomes this snow,// this snow, a way of covering things,/ the ethical problem,/ privilege of saying, I am here,/ in this calm place,// while elsewhere girls are being stacked/ in trucks." And yet, the contours of such privilege remain merely suggested, however apologetic ("as if my special/ self-knowledge should translate into something"). Readers will find a poet who masterfully serves the elegiac mode she favors: "the mystery within trumping/ the mystery without."