A debut collection of poetry explores the many flavors of love.
Almost everyone can relate to the confusing cocktail of excitement and pain that comes from romance. As Toth writes in one poem, “my emotions; broken glass / my tears; liquid fire.” Such is the pitch of this volume of verse, which documents some of the many impulses and aggravations inspired by heartache. The book is divided into three sections: the Sour, the Savory, and the Sweet. Each comes with its own pleasures and dissatisfactions. The ironically named “happy” is found in the Sour section: “bullets / you fired at me / struck / just how you wanted them / right through / my heart / and it gave me a sense / of lust.” A few pages later comes the one-line “cycle of love”: “create then destroy.” The Savory section includes the economical “jealous”: “love is endless / and infectious / love; / restless / and out of all people / it made you jealous.” The poems in the Sweet portion strike a more conciliatory tone. The grateful narrator of “universe” admits “you found a place for me even / if i didn’t know i had one / thank you.” The next poem—titled just with a smiling emoticon, “:))))”—is as begrudgingly earnest as it is self-aware: “if it’s cliché / i don’t wanna hear it / but i love you.” The teenage author comes from the Rupi Kaur school of poetry. She writes in free verse, generally without punctuation or capitalization, giving the poems the feel of dashed off social media posts. They tend not to make an argument so much as simply offer an image or feeling—and often one without much complexity. The first poem, “he’s evil,” reads in its entirety: “his lips are sour / and his spiky hair / made from knifes / that cut deep into her soul / and he left his mark.” The poems are accompanied by simple, uncredited, hand-drawn illustrations: a sun, a bolt of lightning, a hand holding a rose. Toth succeeds in communicating the rawness of love and anger. But even within the world of Instagram poetry, there are books that display a bit more craft.
A spirited but uneven volume of poems about romance.
A debut multigenre collection of short pieces presents vignettes focusing on the lives of African Americans from a variety of perspectives, both real and fanciful.
This eclectic anthology begins with an autobiographical sketch, “P Is for Pride and Perseverance,” in which King traces his early years from his 1979 birth to a 16-year-old mother to his incarceration for attempted robbery and his subsequent determination to do something positive with his life. “Baby Girl” reprises the story of King’s birth from his mother’s point of view, a girl whose teen pregnancy seems predestined by both her grandmother’s clairvoyant dreams and her own limited expectations. Other narratives are linked by shared characters, such as “Posse Up, Ladies First!” and “Thug Angel,” which provide somewhat idealized portraits of street gangs as building blocks of the black community. “Battle Kats” is an SF work about a group of humanoid felines from another planet who work undercover to defend Earth and its alien allies. The central section of the book is occupied by a collection of 21 poems. Some, like “Hold on to Love” and “Away From Home,” focus on romance while others, such as “The Rent Is Too Damn High!” and “Blockstars,” illuminate the experiences of working-class African Americans in inner-city neighborhoods. “Remember Me?” calls up the spirit of LaTasha Harlins, a young black woman shot by a Los Angeles shop owner in the early ’90s, speculating “I wonder what you could have been LaTasha?” King’s efforts to describe his personal struggles and the vibrant characters who populate impoverished black communities are ambitious and dynamic. His prose narratives are too short to feel really complete, but they deliver glimpses into a world mainly familiar to the urban poor, where drug dealing is one of the few available career choices, incarceration is a rite of passage, and street gangs view themselves as community leaders. While the author does have a tendency to romanticize life on the street, as in “Posse Up,” in which a girl gang maintains a strict “code of principles,” his writing presents a vision of what could happen if people worked to “play a part in the improvement of the community.”
A volume of poetry and prose that offers heroic visions of urban African Americans.
Davis recounts the confounding pressures of his 1990s childhood in this debut memoir-in-verse.
When telling the story of your life, one might as well start at the very beginning. That’s exactly what the author does in this memoir, which he describes as “a thing like a very long lie to yourself.” Specifically, he tells of how “The White-Gloved Sheriff / kicked in the door / and / Pulled me” from his mother (whom he calls his “Supervisor”; he later calls her “the Computer Science Major,” “the Waitress,” and other occupational names). Unusually, he had horns and a lot of hair at birth, he says. He was immediately at odds with the people and other living things around him—his parents, his brothers, his family dog. As a toddler, he created an imaginary world for himself known as “FU,” which was “Filled with things that looked like me / And where things made sense / I was King.” His earliest years were characterized by horrible discoveries (school work, isolation, crushes, problems in his parents’ marriage), but his teen years proved to be an even greater series of highs and lows, involving confusion over geopolitical events, friends, computers, pornography, and marijuana. Like a novice who can’t quite figure out the rules of a game, Davis bumbles forward—all horns and fur and misunderstanding—inadvertently angering authority figures as he seeks an adequate method of self-expression. The poem is composed in short, direct lines, enjambed to emphasize particular words or phrases rather than establish a consistent overall rhythm. Davis’ idiolect is inventive in its names for things (siblings are “life partners,” pets are “prisoners,” teachers are “Part-Time Supervisors,” and so on), and his outsider’s observations of society are shrewd and often funny. However, the combination of snark and self-seriousness causes some poems to come off as petulant and cloying; as a result, it’s difficult to imagine anyone over the age of 22 finding the work emotionally affecting. Even so, the tone and style, coupled with debut artist Klimov’s truly engaging black-and-white illustrations should captivate readers of a certain anarchic mindset.
A nihilistic poetic remembrance that will appeal most to older teens and 20-somethings.