Calling a Wolf a Wolf
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4.8 • 6개의 평가
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- US$9.99
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- US$9.99
출판사 설명
"The struggle from late youth on, with and without God, agony, narcotics and love is a torment rarely recorded with such sustained eloquence and passion as you will find in this collection." --Fanny Howe This highly-anticipated debut boldly confronts addiction and courses the strenuous path of recovery, beginning in the wilds of the mind. Poems confront craving, control, the constant battle of alcoholism and sobriety, and the questioning of the self and its instincts within the context of this never-ending fight.
From "Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before"
Sometimes you just have to leave
whatever's real to you, you have to clomp
through fields and kick the caps off
all the toadstools. Sometimes
you have to march all the way to Galilee
or the literal foot of God himself before you realize
you've already passed the place where
you were supposed to die. I can no longer remember
the being afraid, only that it came to an end.
Kaveh Akbar is the founding editor of Divedapper. His poems appear recently or soon in The New Yorker, Poetry, APR, Tin House, Ploughshares, PBS NewsHour, and elsewhere. The recipient of a 2016 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation and the Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, Akbar was born in Tehran, Iran, and currently lives and teaches in Florida.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
"Regarding loss, I'm afraid/ to keep it in the story,/ worried what I might bring back to life," writes Akbar as he opens his much-anticipated debut collection. Though loss infuses the Divedapper founder and editor's work, he animates myriad human struggles addiction, estrangement from one's body and language, faith and its absence with empathy, intimacy, and expansive vision. These poems define life as an act of faith; "so much/ of being alive is breaking," yet we choose to go on. Addressing God, he pleads: "Do you not know how scary// it can get here?" Discussing embodiment, Akbar writes that "everyone/ looks uglier naked or at least/ I do," while elsewhere exalting the body and its complex wants as "a mosque borrowed from Heaven." A breathtaking addition to the canon of addiction literature, Akbar's poetry confronts the pain and joy in denying oneself for the sake of oneself. He suggests redemption without ignoring the violence that attends it: "it's never too late to become/ a new thing, to rip the fur// from your face and dive/ dimplefirst into the strange." Akbar's poems offer readers, religious or not, a way to cultivate faith in times of deepest fear: "it is not God but the flower behind God I treasure."
