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Uncertain Grace
Winner of the 2000 Hayden Carruth Award for New and Emerging Poets. Rebecca Wee's award-winning debut is a moody and lyrical mosaic where the reader is presented multiple and simultaneous points of reality. As line after line gathers details from the world, Wee's poems build in momentum, give voice to the silenced, and explore the poet's impulse to create art that transcends suffering. Rebecca Wee is a professor of creative writing at Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois. A former editor of The Minnesota Review , she earned her MFA from George Mason University and has received several awards for her poetry. Pont des Arts She's bent in a posture of anguish or prayer
in a spot of city filth. Head down, a stained knit cap
with a few coins on the ground beside her,
and her pliant child, a shadow. Someone veers past with a friend
in a clamor of rings and scarves. A pretty child
skips after them, scattering pigeons. The mothers miss how their daughters' eyes catch them--
the wary, openmouthed stares. A terrible knowledge passes between them,
the bridge rippling under their feet, before the polished child rushes past but looks back
at the one on the bridge in the heat-- the sunblown silent one
whose hand has pulled back and flown up to smooth,
for a moment, her heavy hair. The Philosopher A man rides a bicycle into town. He's forgotten his clothes,
or maybe this is what he means to do.
He rides carefully into the burning town. Apartments of old stone list, iron balconies, awnings,
the window-grates blacken with heat. He rides by. His lip perspires, his eyes intent.
In the hills behind him there is a glow that is not the burning.
The Acropolis maybe. The Dome of the Rock. The man has a book under his arm. The pages are gilt-edged, the title
has worn away. He has a shoulder-wound also, an old crescent scar.
Now his chest sweats, now his abdomen.
He is more agile than laughter. The road turns. A black sedan rounds the corner
behind him. They are leaving town or they're trailing him.
in a spot of city filth. Head down, a stained knit cap
with a few coins on the ground beside her,
and her pliant child, a shadow. Someone veers past with a friend
in a clamor of rings and scarves. A pretty child
skips after them, scattering pigeons. The mothers miss how their daughters' eyes catch them--
the wary, openmouthed stares. A terrible knowledge passes between them,
the bridge rippling under their feet, before the polished child rushes past but looks back
at the one on the bridge in the heat-- the sunblown silent one
whose hand has pulled back and flown up to smooth,
for a moment, her heavy hair. The Philosopher A man rides a bicycle into town. He's forgotten his clothes,
or maybe this is what he means to do.
He rides carefully into the burning town. Apartments of old stone list, iron balconies, awnings,
the window-grates blacken with heat. He rides by. His lip perspires, his eyes intent.
In the hills behind him there is a glow that is not the burning.
The Acropolis maybe. The Dome of the Rock. The man has a book under his arm. The pages are gilt-edged, the title
has worn away. He has a shoulder-wound also, an old crescent scar.
Now his chest sweats, now his abdomen.
He is more agile than laughter. The road turns. A black sedan rounds the corner
behind him. They are leaving town or they're trailing him.
- GenresPoetry
96 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2001
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
January 31, 2025
After having the great pleasure of studying creative writing under Rebecca Wee, it was finally time I took a look at the book she had written. It was intriguing to actually see and read the poems that she had alluded to in classes and actually have a bit of understanding about them. I will also say that there is a poem for just about everyone in this collection with topics ranging from love, lust, family drama, and grief. And while not everyone will connect with all the poems, and some may get frustrated with needing to read the poems several times to understand them, I think it is a worthwhile read for any poetry lover, especially those who love a bit of Midwestern flair and charm in their poetry.
November 2, 2011
LOVE so many of the poems in this collection...
The eyes aren't right. The mind
unnerved by quick translations,
and the words I choose give this away.
-from "Self-Portrait Diptych"
we are after something miraculous
we open our mouths we believe
we turn
at times
we gather speed
-from "hoop snake"
The eyes aren't right. The mind
unnerved by quick translations,
and the words I choose give this away.
-from "Self-Portrait Diptych"
we are after something miraculous
we open our mouths we believe
we turn
at times
we gather speed
-from "hoop snake"
July 28, 2013
Rebecca Wee is a genius. you need to come prepared. she never lets up with a barrage of syntax and metaphor. often reading 2 or 3 times something would lie hidden jolting you to awake in the roaring forum of captured audience and reader.
October 17, 2011
Broken and fragmented lyrics. A poetry of witness that manages not to get heavy-handed. Musically beautiful.
July 1, 2009
Definitely worth multiple readings. The most successful poems in the book are, to me, the ones that are least "conventional."
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews