Lethal Theater: OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
Autor Susannah Nevisonen Limba Engleză Paperback – 17 ian 2019
In her new poetry collection, Lethal Theater, Susannah Nevison reckons with the rituals of violence that underpin the American prison system, both domestically and abroad. Exploring the multiple roles of medicine in incarceration, Nevison’s poems expose the psychological and physical pain felt by the prison system’s inhabitants. Nevison asks readers to consider the act and complications of looking—at the spectacle of punishment, isolation, and interrogation, as mapped onto incarcerated bodies—by those who participate in and enforce dangerous prison practices, those who benefit from the exploitation of incarcerated bodies, and those who bear witness to suffering. Unfolding in three sections, Nevison’s poems fluidly move among themes of isolation and violence in prisons during period of war, the history of medical experimentation on domestic prisoners, and the intersection between anesthesia used in hospital settings and anesthesia used in cases of lethal injection. Lethal Theater is an attempt to articulate and make visible a grotesque and overlooked part of American pain.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780814255162
ISBN-10: 0814255167
Pagini: 84
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 x 8 mm
Greutate: 0.11 kg
Ediția:1
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Mad Creek Books
Seria OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
ISBN-10: 0814255167
Pagini: 84
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 x 8 mm
Greutate: 0.11 kg
Ediția:1
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Mad Creek Books
Seria OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
Recenzii
“Susannah Nevison’s Lethal Theater is a powerful, nuanced accounting of the physical and spiritual price violence exacts on its victims and perpetrators. This stunning lyric meditation on imprisonment relentlessly pushes the limits of mercy in asking us to bear witness to the ways in which we inflict pain on others in places where “the dark touches / everything, spreading its wound.” —Erika Meitner
“Susannah Nevison’s searing second collection, Lethal Theater, is not about how we die but how we kill, protected by procedure, faith in duty, cruel appetite, and the State. Nevison steadfastly rejects dulled indifference; instead, her poems—lyric, found, urgent—pulse with sound anger, grief, and complicity’s persistent ache.” —Douglas Kearney
“Susannah Nevison’s Lethal Theater is a testament to the moral imagination. Many times, the speakers of these poems seem perched at the edge of the kind of all-consuming empathetic seeing that defeats witness, but they never fall over. And what they, and Nevison, see most clearly is that we are to be known and measured by the ways we treat those over whom we have power, and yet most often we do not want to know the power we have over others, nor what is done to others in our name. Lethal Theater speaks our name.” —Shane McCrae
Notă biografică
Susannah Nevison is the author of the poetry collection Teratology. She teaches at Sweet Briar College and her work has been published in the New York Times, Crazyhorse, and Tin House.
Extras
Fawn
Caught beneath a car but found alive,
the fawn screams but doesn’t kick,
and it’s too late. Her spine is crushed.
I try to hold her still. I didn’t know
how bright her spots would be,
her dappled coat, my shaking hand
across her flank as if to wipe her clean.
Her eyes so wide, so close to mine,
I see my entire face inside.
It’s years before a boy will throw me
to the ground, and years before I’ll dream
his face, so close to mine, and scream
myself awake. I’m still a girl. I still believe
in wild things, that the startled animal
in my chest is not the fawn I carry in a bag,
wrapped and tied, like a gift, or grief.
American Icon
Like a mother’s throw
blanket over his shoulders,
like a little piece of home.
Like a homemade costume
any child wears, standing on
his mother’s canned goods, striking
a pose and making a face, though
he can’t see. He can’t see. Witch
or monk or Jesus incarnate,
the wires are live. Like a real live
wire, he jumps. Like hopscotch
or rope. Like nothing a child
couldn’t name. Hasn’t seen.
Like nothing, like a game.
Caught beneath a car but found alive,
the fawn screams but doesn’t kick,
and it’s too late. Her spine is crushed.
I try to hold her still. I didn’t know
how bright her spots would be,
her dappled coat, my shaking hand
across her flank as if to wipe her clean.
Her eyes so wide, so close to mine,
I see my entire face inside.
It’s years before a boy will throw me
to the ground, and years before I’ll dream
his face, so close to mine, and scream
myself awake. I’m still a girl. I still believe
in wild things, that the startled animal
in my chest is not the fawn I carry in a bag,
wrapped and tied, like a gift, or grief.
American Icon
Like a mother’s throw
blanket over his shoulders,
like a little piece of home.
Like a homemade costume
any child wears, standing on
his mother’s canned goods, striking
a pose and making a face, though
he can’t see. He can’t see. Witch
or monk or Jesus incarnate,
the wires are live. Like a real live
wire, he jumps. Like hopscotch
or rope. Like nothing a child
couldn’t name. Hasn’t seen.
Like nothing, like a game.
Cuprins
Cell Watch: Strip Cell
Pastoral
Fitness Test
Tapetum Lucidum
[The bars lash light across his body, and he]
[Like a widening pupil, the dark touches]
[He becomes a stripped and weathered cross]
[The wall between your charge and you is thin]
[He imagines they’re calling him home]
[The winter field has forgotten what it knows]
[He begins to see the dark lift, sees you]
Fawn
American Icon
Barrel
All the Games We Know
Chamber
Playing Possum
Where We Are
Debridement
Pastoral
Fitness Test
Tapetum Lucidum
[The bars lash light across his body, and he]
[Like a widening pupil, the dark touches]
[He becomes a stripped and weathered cross]
[The wall between your charge and you is thin]
[He imagines they’re calling him home]
[The winter field has forgotten what it knows]
[He begins to see the dark lift, sees you]
Fawn
American Icon
Barrel
All the Games We Know
Chamber
Playing Possum
Where We Are
Debridement
Descriere
A collection of poetry that reckons with the rituals of violence that underpin the American prison system.