| Title | : | Prelude to Bruise |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1566893747 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781566893749 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 103 |
| Publication | : | First published August 18, 2014 |
| Awards | : | Stonewall Book Award Literature (2015), Thom Gunn Award for Gay Poetry (2015), National Book Critics Circle Award Poetry (2014), Goodreads Choice Award Poetry (2014) |
Prelude to Bruise Reviews
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Everyone’s in peril in these poems — no one is safe. No one is going to save you in these poems.
—Saeed Jones, in
an interview with Time
i fell into these poems without meaning to.
i was reading the first, and then the second. the third. fourth. fifth.
as someone who scarcely reads poetry outside the lecture hall, i think i was most surprised of all when i realized that i wanted (needed) to know where the threads of Prelude to Bruise would take me.
this is a collection that is taut, sinuous, contrapuntal: race, sexuality, violence, and queer desire between (Black, boy) bodies intermingling in the acres of the american south. when speaking Jones’ poems aloud, i turned their syllables over in my mouth; the words were spittle-flecked with the b-b-b-b-b alliteration (black back broke burn boy) of “Prelude to Bruise,” the eponymous poem, and equally fast-flowing and claustrophobic in “Boy in a Whalebone Corset”—
dream-headed
with my corset still on, stays
slightly less tight, bones against
bones, broken glass on the floor,
dance steps for a waltz
with no partner.
i did not know three words, disjointed, could evoke such dread in me until i read the mantra of “Jasper, 1998”: smile, ride, quiet.
and through it all, bodies—battered, bruised, berobed.
the collection in its entirety isn’t so much a slow-burn as it is a progression, poetic palimpsest: from the jagged black fist of “Anthracite” to the Boy with pistol drawn in “History, according to boy.” it ends—
I am not a boy. I am not
your boy. I am not. -
bookmarking this review here.
http://www.kenyonreview.org/kr-online...
****
i need to say, first off, that poetry in english is really hard for me. i can do poetry in italian, but poetry in english, tough, man.
but a friend of mine agreed to read this with me, and the experience was intense. because saeed jones is nothing if not intense.
i'm writing this before reading any review at all, because i'm sure other people's reviews will intimidate me and push me to silence. here goes.
throat. the speaker's throat is all over the text. throats are oh so vulnerable. so easily punched in, smashed, stuffed. but they are also oh so powerful, the source of our voice, the receptacles of so many pleasures -- gustatory, sexual.
father. this is a long anguished dirge to a father who could have been but wasn't. and then was taken. before things could be set to right. i miss you dad. i hate you dad. i miss you dad. come back dad. look what a good boy i am now. look: i have published a book of poems. i am famous, dad. will you like me now?
invisible mother. barely there. where are women when abusive men massacre their kids? all too often they are being massacred themselves.
pain. dang. pain pain pain. you are so young saeed, and life has already given you so much bitterness.
gender fluctuation and prostitution and drugs: stop living so dangerously, saeed.
race. bitter fruit. katrina. the exxon valdez oil spill.
james bird jr.. slavery. swamps. briar patches. running running running from the dogs.
fantastic animals, long dry grass, fire, water -- objects/sites of delight, objects/sites of agony and fear.
this is what i got. so many lines worth copying, but other have done it so go read their review. gorgeous language and this: simple, even common feelings/experiences described with astoundingly powerful one-liners. -
6 out of 5.
I didn't exactly mean to survive myself.
-- "Post-Apocalyptic Heartbeat"
Because I follow Saeed on Twitter, I happened to see a tweet a little while back where he said "I'm really glad I didn't kill myself in 2011. It's good to still be here." and having read this collection... I suppose, all I can say is that I'm really glad, too. These poems are so full of power and emotion that they can be a little scary sometimes - a little intimidating - but they're not only some of the best poems I've ever read... they're some of the best things I've ever read period. If you're a nerd like me, you can have fun watching him use septameter and then breaking the meter (see: "Thralldom II") or doing any sorts of other linguistic tricks - and if you're just a passing traveler, read "Boy in a Whalebone Corset". Actually, pick any poem and you'll find something to appreciate and enjoy, whether you're a poetry fan or not. This is a beautiful, haunting, nearly perfect collection.
More at RB:
http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2015/02... -
There are too many unforgettable poems and lines in Prelude to Bruise for me to give it anything but five stars. "Guernica on all fours." Guernica on all fours!
"Bloated with want, I'm the man who waits
for the moon to drown before I let the lake
grab my ankles & take me into its muddy mouth.
They say a city is at the bottom of all that water.
Oh, marauder. Make me a drink. I'm on my way."
"How the jasmine vine rests
its hands on the abandoned sill for a month,
then pulls itself into the cool dark."
And one that's almost too good--
"Even a peacock feather comes to a point"
--the kind of good that you're not even sure you can like, overgood.
"Smile, ride, quiet."
I loved and gaped at--in a poem about his father's illness and death--"but let's not get ahead of ourselves, goner." Goner. More anger and lifetime-of-hurt and fuck-you in using that word than in all the other poems on his father combined.
All this said, in the weaker poems, I feel almost like Jones is unintentionally parodying himself. Blood, moons, jewels, hunger, tongues! I felt like this about "Eclipse of My Third Life," for ex, and some others (or portions of others): they felt like juvenilia. Even if they were the last ones written, they make reading the book feel like watching a poet grow (or seeing clearly where he still needs to grow). -
I held on to Prelude to Bruise for a month before I started reading it, knowing that once I started in, I wouldn't be able to stop. I read these poems in a fever, all in one sitting. The poems here are lovely, shot through with beauty, danger, and emotion of the highest order. This a book that made me wanted to write poetry again, both because the poems are gorgeously written and because, as Rigoberto Gonzalez has said of this book, "with impressive grace, Saeed Jones situates the queer black body at the center, where visibility and vulnerability nurture emotional strength." I'm grateful for Jones for the work put into this collection, and highly recommend it.
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4,5
This book contains some of the most guttural and feelingful poetry I read this last couple of years.
It's a heavy book, that packs a lot of punch in little over 100 pages. Themes like gender, race, discrimination and growth bleed through the pages and will certainly make the reader need to breathe deeply after each poem.
This is a heavy book, but the kind of heavy that you'll feel thankful to read.
There's a lot of symbolism in these pages, which will for sure lead to a very personal interpretation of each individual, making this book a multiple work of written art.
I greatly recommend it, without having to think twice.
You can follow the author on Twitter, @theferocity.
You can follow Coffee House Press, @Coffee_House_
The full review of this book is published at my reading blog
https://passarinhoreads.wordpress.com... -
My first immersive experience in a complete book of poetry in a loooooooong time. Very powerful with many moments of amazingly beautiful language and images (all the more so because describing sometimes very ugly scenes of racism and violence); some (deceptively) simple, and others much more complex and layered, elusive and impenetrable - but no less enjoyable for it. Recurring themes and images that made the journey from poem to poem, and from section to section, tell a larger story.
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In 2005, I read Richard Siken's poetry collection, 'Crush.' I have read and re-read this collection many times over the years. I have a copy with me almost everywhere I go. And, finally, a new collection of poems that feels so close to Siken. Jones' poems are beautiful and heartbreaking and powerful and smooth and loud.
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5/5
Stonewall Book Award Winner
Raw, fresh, like the sap springing from freshly cut wood.
This is a powerful and unsettling debut poetry collection. Many of the poems are brutal and violent, dark, and sexual (and not in a loving way). Suicide is a major theme, but the language is startling and also beautiful at times. At first, I wasn't really connecting with these poems because they were making me too uncomfortable, but the more time I spent with them, the more I came to appreciate their rawness and power. This isn't a collection where you'll find yourself relating to the speaker. Rather, this is a collection to open your eyes to the difficult lives some people experience. "If I ever strangled sparrows, it was only because I dreamed of better songs." -
Eclipse of my third life..
Hunger is who we are
under a black lacquered moon.
Undone in his flashlit arms, is this my body anymore?
Red Chinese kite in the night of my throat,
no one can see.
Unpaved road that veers
into fragments of bone, a drive only he knows.
Spine stitched to shadow’s edge, I lose my head
to grass when his want walks
the length of me, king of my beheaded kingdom.
Stars are just jewelry stolen from graves, he sighs,
pressing me into loam, amaryllis shoots
already owning my dark. I’ll wake, agarden
gated in April light,
my veins in every leaf. -
Powerful, visceral poems of desire, longing, and fear.
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I really loved Saeed Jones' memoir
How We Fight For Our Lives, so since I've been really into poetry lately I thought I'd give this collection a shot. It took a little bit for me to really get into, and there were a lot of poems I thought were just okay mainly in the first part, but the last 75% I really enjoyed and there are so many good poems in here that I can't justify giving it less than 4 stars.
Some of my favorite poems in here:
Daedalus, After Icarus
Beheaded Kingdom
After Last Light
Postapocalyptic Heartbeat -
That second to last poem (the long one) es everything I needed to survive!! But each poem in this collection is worthy of a standing ovation.
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LOVED. This is tied with
Citizen: An American Lyric,
Nox, and
Fire Shut Up in My Bones for the best things I've read this year. The poetry reminded me a little of the music of
Perfume Genius.
BOY AT THRESHOLD
The front door kicked open
to a sky of windblown herons, pewter
wings bent back
by dark gust. If I were your blood,
I would fear this feathered dusk,
but I've always wanted to be dangerous.
The air grabs my lapel, rough-tongued
gale, and drags me free.
KUDZU
I won't be forgiven
for what I've made
of myself.
Soil recoils
from my hooked kisses.
Pines turn their backs
on me. They know
what I can do
with the wrap of my legs.
Each summer,
when the air becomes crowded
with want, I set all my tongues
upon you.
To quiet this body,
you must answer
my tendriled craving.
All I've ever wanted
was to kiss crevices, pry them open,
and flourish within dew-slick
hollows.
How you mistake
my affection.
If I ever strangled sparrows,
it was only because I dreamed
of better songs.
I'm gonna have to go out and buy it after I return this copy to the library. -
In his beautifully crafted first book, PRELUDE TO BRUISE, Saeed Jones wrangles with the often-harsh reality of being a minority in America. Jones examines grief, race, sexuality, gender, and relationships with confidence and consistency. Each poem has its own purpose, and each one questions the complexities of the human heart and the human experience. What is most interesting about PRELUDE TO BRUISE is that the collection is framed entirely through the lens of identity. This connection seamlessly joins the poems from one page to the next, highlighting Jones’s effortless voice and tone. His ferocity, imagery, and focus demand pause, analysis, and, most importantly, emotion. The spacing and conservative line lengths make for a generous reading experience, as Jones seduces his readers to meditate on each stanza, each line. PRELUDE TO BRUISE is certainly one of the best poetry collections to come out in 2014 and is worthy of being a part of the landscape and conversation of contemporary American poetry.
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It's rare when I come across a book that makes me want to quit writing poetry because it accomplishes everything I have ever wanted to do in a poem or a collection. This book is one of them.
The intimacy, the questions of identity, the finding of a voice, the loss of a voice, the struggles with the body, with becoming, the struggles with loss and love all make this book so magical. There is a lyricism that I can only wish to one day obtain. The imagery is ripe.
I can't even properly express how much this book inspired me. I just finished it and I want to go back and re-read each poem a kajillion more times to get EVERY little detail Jones puts into his poems. -
I get shout-happy when I read these poems; they are the gospel; they are the good news of the sustaining power of imagination, tenderness, and outright joy.
The numerous awards and honors this book has received acknowledge the author's originality and the necessity of Saeed Jones' unrelenting voice of witness in the world. -
If I could give it ten stars I would. From that last poem this line kills: "A bare lightbulb shines above them like a lynched moon." The language is simple, smooth, feels effortless but utterly destructive. Brilliant.
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Wish I could give this more than 5 stars. Took it out from the library but will be buying it immediately.
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raw & bloody & very much centered around being gay and black
tw violence, sexual abuse -
In my extremely limited reading of poems, I have not read a better collection.
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In this beautiful collection, Saeed Jones explores growing up as a queer black man. Much of the book is about pain and loss--abuse, betrayal, racism, and homophobia. These lyrical poems are grounded in desire, erotic pleasure, and physical confrontations. A lovely, moving book.
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Picked this up after watching the Yale University panel on writing trauma. Beautiful, feverish, honest. Makes me want to try to get better at poetry myself.
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Powerful and beautifully written collection. I wish I could articulate more, but I just don't know what else to say at the moment.
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Every so often, on approximately blue moon basis, I venture into poetry. I know me well enough to know it isn’t really for me (specifically modern poetry isn’t, classics are fine), but I also like to try new things and push myself.
This book I selected based on the title, it’s an excellent and evocative title. There’s also the matter of it winning all these awards and accolades when it came out. And the thing is, yeah, sure, this is exactly the kind of book that wins awards. For minority representation alone, the author checks just about every box. And the confessional style of these poems, the autobiographical (seeming, at least) contents are meant to get the readers to understand and relate to his experiences. Isn’t that the goal?
Well, yeah, sure enough, you will get the front row seat to what life is like for the author as a black, gay person in US. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t great, especially the early years and amply demonstrated in the 6 chapter of the book. That one is practically journaling and barely poetic, except maybe for some rhythm, but very, very personal.
The rest trail different years and experiences, frequently somewhere in the South, frequently over some brief love affair and more than once, more than twice over wearing women’s clothes.
These poems are of a nonrhyming randomly rhythmic variety that…well, that some might like and apparently many did. Every so often there was indeed a turn of phrase or a sentence that was just hauntingly striking, but not often enough.
Relatability wise…well, for a black, gay, drag loving person from a homophobic family this would probably resonate more.
Overall, an interesting experimental read, I suppose, and certainly a quick one, but it didn’t do much for me. User mileage may vary. -
I'm a fan of poetry, but it is with great hesitation that I dip my toe into the world of writing a poetry review. While I've read a fair amount of it and studied it over the years, I still feel woefully under qualified to offer an informed opinion. Shouldn't one be able to scan a line, identify a form, etc. etc. etc. before one can weigh in on the merits of a particular poem or collection?
In lieu of that knowledge, all that is left for me is to offer an emotional response to reading the work, and on that front I can say this book was a revelation. I found it consistently moving, emotional yet cerebral. While I can't identify the rhythms by name, I can say I felt the power of them confidently ushering me through the poems.
If you liked this, make sure to follow me on
Goodreads for more reviews! -
A great work of art. As modern prose poetry moves farther and farther from attention to form and rhythm, preferring instead to essentially break paragraphs of text up in an attempt to infuse meaning, it becomes difficult to find poetry that actually MEANS something as opposed to trying to SOUND like it means something.
This chapbook is a perfect example. I don't count myself as a fan of poetry, particularly in its modern form; and yet, Saeed Jones will make a believer out of me. It's a tender, edged, angry, sad, vibrant piece of work...one of the best books of poetry I've read in a long, long time. -
"They say a city is at the bottom of all that water.
Oh, marauder. Make me a drink. I’m on my way."
Some beautiful poems here, great insight into the experience of being black and queer in America. My only real complaint is that the poems get a little samey after a while, I think mostly due to how many of them follow the same couplet-heavy format. The long prose-poem (I forget the title, don't have the book with me as I write this) is a little clunky in places, but by the end of it I was hooked. Also, these poems are downright sexy in many places, the kind of book you might feel bashful reading in public (not that anyone would know). -
some poems reminded me of little richard's autobiography: the secret scenes he discovers growing up black, queer, and wild in the unmapped sexual underground / wonderland of the rural south. the series of poems about his mother's dresses and his boyhood drag - ! but jones also has whitman's sense of sexual celebration and shamelessness (& sternums, & swimming with boys). the grown-up poems chart these sensualities and traumas as they explore a larger geography of bodies and intensities.
