I do not know how to review poetry collections.
Which is the ultimate irony since I published one myself, light years ago, and chose poetry as my weapon of choice for my M.F.A.
But I do not know how to review them.
The best poetry collections feel so raw and experiential to me, so private and dream-like. They feel like fireflies at dusk. How do you review that?
They puncture the veil between things, between the outside world and our inner buzzing, between the limits of our human lives and the chaotic, messy timelessness of the universe.
They pull on the thread and the stitching of life comes undone. Yet it is also made new. They peel off the layers and reveal the commonality behind all things. You come undone and suddenly it all makes sense.
Do I make sense?
Ada Limón is a nervy and musical force, all string and woodwind and percussion, whose dealings with emotions and the world are intense and unabashedly direct.
I cannot recommend this collection enough. Read her.





