By Larissa Szporluk
As Brenda Hillman notes in her advent, Larissa Szporluk "creates an animate new universe out of cryptic unique speech" in those poems. Exploring how the brain orders experience—and how ailment, or diversified orders, impact that experience—Szporluk has produced a poetry of alien attractiveness, limning worlds the place the shortcoming to exert keep watch over leads to a hectic, overwhelming immediacy.
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Additional resources for Dark Sky Question (Barnard New Women Poets Series)
He touches her eyes, almost humming. What are those depths to which we all disappear? Seas advance and recede. Ebb and flow. A mosaic of tiny bones shifts a bit in the heat. There are two kinds of time, side by side; tears bind them. His finger rests on her lips, then goes in. Extinction sucks the tip, softly biting. Page 33 Solar Wind I don't pray. I just walk out there where it's thin with my bow and aim. But I should have yelled. I should have changed the world. A person can die of balance, just gleam like squid and disappear.
There was no more moon, only space in the waves, like a vow unmade, or a cage whose interior flew. Page 8 Libido A hand has her hair. Don't move, don't cry out The odd foliage is shining in the light. She falls back into his purpose, which is hers: to be provided for, to find her insides altered and grow huge. But he runs off, done with her mouth, leaving her dazed by the waste of that kind of love. She asks around, asks how, where do we feel to find who we are, watches some poppies freeze in an orgy of plants, their cold red gaze grown sideways.
If there had been a chance, an intelligence, floating in the wake, if only it had whispered with the integer of a voice, or finger, Don't let me down, Earth would have heard the sound unfinished mother, and reared her prow in wonder that this was her son, wait, that his life would urge legends, it's my turn, of the love she had made. And he would swim through the weeds and the weeds would accommodate his motion, bowing all over, the way a face conforms to the sun by reddening. He waded out to his knees where her hair still fought, and threw it as hard as he could.