space struck paige lewis vk

They are fond of couplets tethered in length that contain senten. "Each poem another journey into the pondering imagination of Paige Lewis, a wonderful crafter of images drawn from space into existence. —Foreword Reviews "[W]ise and witty." [Space Struck is] one of those rare books of poetry that you can read in one sitting and feel full." First, you peer inside; then, you really peer inside. Lewis's writing is exceptionally clear; the deep thinking in these poems come from the juxtaposition of seemingly unrelated ideas and wham lines like "I just hope I'm forgiven for the nights I / spend on the fire escape, untying this city's prayers / long enough to hear the first few words. I follow the author on Twitter and pre-ordered the book based on their announcement and a stellar review in Poetry magazine. So I go out where winter is and roll around in the snow until a sharp rock meets the vulnerable plush of my belly. But Space Struck is also the poetry equivalent of working a calculus problem at the kitchen table, by candlelight, well past midnight, during an electrical storm. I liked reading it. How can we not? I was never put off by it. Space Struck is that film that takes you somewhere else, sets you viscerally in motion—on a train ride, a visit to Noah’s extant Ark, the Terre Haute Planetarium, a house with an obstructed view, a park bench with a rocket ship looming overhead—to destinations as divergent and eerily similar as a magic show and Purgatory. What looked like a genre, I soon realized, was all the handiwork of one poet. Every experience seems both urgent and [T]hese poems were fluent in funniness, retweetably jokey: 'I'm//the vice president of panic, and the president is/missing.' Not a huge poetry person, but listened to this one because I liked the narrator’s voice. It's not very often I read poetry, and I'm not even sure when the last time was that I picked up a poetry collection. Want to sign up for our newsletter? I’m the vice president of panic, and the president is missing.”, “I’m the vice president of panic, and the president is missing.”, [ATY 2021] - Short Stories, Essays, or Poetry, You Can Take Off Your Sweater, I've Made Today Warm. Paige Lewis’s debut collection Space Struck does all of these things.                                                                         to say sad? I follow the author on Twitter and pre-ordered the book based on their announcement and a stellar review in Poetry magazine. as if I’m on the moon listening to the air hiss And humor, too: "...even the sun's been sighing Not you again/when it sees me." Look! The formatting is very different but delightful. Sad could go in the shoebox; silence could go in the shoebox, too. Hunched over, I must look like I’m hiding something I don’t want to share. Sold by IBOOK Store and ships from Amazon Fulfillment. Unnatural. We work to shine a light on stories that build bridges, tear down walls, and speak truth to power. But once the play subsided, you found yourself moved—unaccountably, almost, until you discovered, reading back up the poem, that even the zaniest elements had several parts to play. Paige Lewis is the author of Space Struck (Sarabande Books, 2019).Their poems have appeared in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, The Georgia Review, and elsewhere. Nothing too mind-blowing, but fascinating enough to hold my attention for the entirety of the reading. Here’s another title in search of an ending: “Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself Your”: go ahead. . He says, How deep, like he’s reaching into a galaxy. BECAUSE THE COLOR IS HALF THE TASTE it’s a shame to eat blackberries in the dark, but that’s exactly what I’m up to when a man startles down the street screaming, The fourth dimension is not time! This is not a guarantee of perfect reader-writer chemistry, but in the spirit of my review-as-PSA, I feel I should mention: the first word of Space Struck is “I’m,” and the last word of Space Struck is “up.”, As in: “Put on the coffee or the kettle.” would recommend to anyone seeking signs of hope for the future of american poetry. As in: Let’s have a look-see! —Benjamin Quinn, Harvard Bookstore "Lewis writes with the immediacy and tenderness of Ilya Kaminsky, the wit and sharpness of Franny Choi, the technicality and precision of Sylvia Plath. They are fond of couplets tethered in length that contain sentences tumbling along so that it would be easier to draw the silhouette of the poem than to select just a few lines to quote. . It says, I am very thin // and not fit to hold you. This is the first review I’ve written in quarantine, and I wasn’t sure whether to acknowledge that fact—though upon reflection, I felt I should. How dare they? Their poems have appeared in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Best New Poets 2017, Gulf Coast, The Massachusetts Review, The Georgia Review, The Iowa Review, Poetry Northwest, Ninth Letter, and elsewhere. "Where everyone hurts / and gets hurt, and the hurt can be heard / asking the same question—Why isn't anybody / stopping this? so jubilant!—I’m concerned my description here might sound a little more MLA than PSA, and we need the PSA right now more than ever—whether we love to play, are afraid to play, or most of all, if we’ve forgotten how to play. I don’t read a lot of poetry, but listened to this one as an audiobook, and LOVED it! What looked like a genre, I soon realized, was all the handiwork of one poet. To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. . ONLINE “You Can Take Off Your Sweater, I’ve Made Today Warm” — Poetry excerpts from YAEL— Poetry “When I Tell My Husband I Miss the Sun” — Poets.org Poem-A-Day “I Love Those Who Can Walk Slow Over Glass And Still Hold” — American Poetry Review “Royal I” — Black Warrior Review She has published twelve collections of poetry and prose, most recently the book-length lyric essay, Just an Ordinary Woman Breathing (The Ohio State University Press, 2020) and the hybrid-forms chapbook, P*R*I*D*E (VCFA/Hunger Mountain, 2020). I hovered between 4 and 5 stars on this one, but the poems that really hit me hit me so hard I think the 5 is worth it. At The Rumpus, we know how easy it is to find pop culture on the Internet, so we’re here to give you something more challenging, to show you how beautiful things are when you step off the beaten path. He makes me feel stupid and it’s hard to sleep knowing so little about everything, so I enroll in a night class where I learn the universe is an arrow without end and it asks only one question: How dare you? There's so many great lines throughout and so many historical and ecological references that I immediately connected with. These brainy poems didn't wait to spout off trivia, historical and scientific—'Pavlov Was the Son of a Priest' (a characteristically quotable title) recalls that 'the moon smells like spent gunpowder,' then divulges some smoldering self-knowledge: 'I'm sorry/I couldn't hide my joy when you said lonely.' Sometimes we need someone to find the words for us, to stitch them together in a meaningful way, to make us look and see together like watching a movie with a voiceover that zooms us right in.

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