Holly Lyn Walrath

This slim volume of poetry inspired by anatomy carries the same magic as Walrath's first collection, which I adored. Here, the poems slipped out into small bites and nibbles of thought and image are haunted by desire, feminism, and struggle, with each poem exhibiting something of a natural spiral of thought. The fact that the poems feel effortless is testament to Walrath's talent, and the gorgeous cover image of birds using a ribcage as a perch is the perfect lens through which to come to this collection, open-minded and open-hearted.

I'll read anything Walrath creates, and absolutely recommend this work.… (mer)

Thanks to NetGalley for this ARC!

This thin chapbook of poems seems at once light and dark, brilliant yet incomprehensible. I read through each offering twice and came away no wiser, despite preparing myself to find meaning in the words. A poem that begins “I am night and a thousand stars hurtle through/my skin, punching through the ether” sets the reader up for a powerful experience. It’s over a few short paragraphs later, a story not tied up neatly, only words and a mental picture that creates an unsatisfactory feeling. Not unsatisfactory in a bad way – just a longing for something more to grasp, a clearer picture of sorts.

The author does have a way with words, stringing them together like a delicate necklace that has its own beauty, yet doesn’t match with anything in the closet. That is not to say it is a wasted purchase -understand that these poems may not meet with your expectations. They are an acquired taste, revealing more each time they are read. Two particular poems became my favorites: I Swallowed the Moon and Blue Cadillac. I feel that Cadillac is the most mainstream work, easily understood, with fondness for the title character (?) shining through easily. I too, remember the classic cars with wistful nostalgia, as the poem notes:

And somehow in this memory of you/your massive lines like some primordial behemoth/long since dead and buried/in ice, the very blueness of you, I may have/remembered myself, another classic beauty.

It was so easy to conjure up big fins in the Texas heat as I absorbed this poem. Images formed freely in my head, unlike some of the author’s other writings in this book. Sometimes the final lines give off a hint of sarcasm, of impropriety or dismissal; other times the end is so far away from the beginning you don’t know what to think. There is a strong undercurrent of feminism and heartbreak in the words, and at times I wondered what experiences the author had, to describe in such a way.

All and all, not the worst way to spend time reading. Poetry is more resonant with people; either you love it or hate it. This little book was pleasant to read, despite the fact that I came away from most of it confused. Read it and let me know what you think.… (mer)

In her opening remarks, Walrath calls her chapbook Glimmerglass Girl "a fantastical account of womanhood", noting its personal nature in an ultra-brief introduction that already makes her nuanced language shine. From that short paragraph on, it is virtually impossible to put this gorgeous chapbook down.

From the opening of a butterfly -- "...grasp the thin chitin / of her butterfly wings / like / holding onto the surface of water..." -- through looking glasses and hearts and memories of Dr. Peppers and jello shots, this little collection is a reminder of just how real speculative poetry can become when given a moment to resonate, and an argument that a short chapbook of poems can be just so powerful a work of art as any painting or novel.

A snippet from one of my favorites in the collection, "Premise of the Heart":

"...my heart wants for pain. I suspect
it may never trust me again, expecting me to
squander its beauty, pin it up in weird places like a
glittering beetle--green-winged and blind to taste
its copper backbone like a mouthful of nails--
heartless."

I adored this chapbook, and I look forward to recommending it to others and re-reading it. The one quick caveat I'll give is that some of the images are played over the text in a way that makes a handful of the poems difficult to read, so I do wish formatting had been given a bit more thought and attention, but that's certainly on the press and not the author. I'll pick up any further collection or book that Holly Lyn Walrath writes.

Absolutely recommended.… (mer)

"Hiding our hearts is easy when we have so many bones"

"A man
once asked how I got so thin
I told him I was made of glass"

The Smallest of Bones by Holly Lyn Walrath is an amazing, beautiful, and powerful collection! With shards of bone and glass I felt safe to curl up between my ribcage right alongside the little ball of pain I've lodged there for safe keeping, and truly explore myself, my experiences, and the world in relation to everything from sexuality to religion to the darkness that comes along with being alive.

Perhaps it is because I myself have always used bone's and the human body in my own private writing to express various feelings I was forcefully drawn to this collection for word one. I literally could not put it down (I tried, lasted all of five minutes) and I felt a strange rush of comfort and connection with the words so perfectly chosen by Holly Lyn Walrath. It is a collection that I will be purchasing for my own collection as soon as I possibly can, for there is a spot on my shelf screaming to be filled with this book and only this book. I have been searching for a collection like this for so long, I feel like I can finally breathe having finally found The Smallest of Bones which far exceeded anything I had hoped to find.

Highly recommended!

Thank you so much to Netgalley, and of course Holly Lyn Walrath and publishers for granting me an ecopy in exchange for my honest opinion. I can happily and truthfully lend my opinion.… (mer)