Calvin Bedient calls the poetry in this volume "solid and brave and relentlessly inventive." Forrest Gander says, "The obsessive force of this poetry, ruptured by caesura and stanza, is remarkable. Despite the considerable intellectual torque, the poems, concerned always with identity, the borders of the I and the Here, are quite funny in passages. The drama of this work is gripping, convulsive, and intense."
Subject holds the mirror up to language, attempting to find out (and find ways out of ) the limits of the wor(l)ds we are sentenced to. The lyric impulse exists, but the surface is rough, reflecting the violence of the effort to see into seeing the voice is ragged, syntax is torn, words have been broken into syllable and sound, images dissolve, the page holds out alternate visions and versions (in double or triple columns), leaving any would-be univocal truth always in doubt.
Laura Mullen is the author of nine books: EtC (Solid Objects 2023), Complicated Grief, Enduring Freedom: A Little Book of Mechanical Brides, The Surface, After I Was Dead, Subject and Dark Archive, The Tales of Horror, and Murmur. Recognitions for her poetry include Ironwood’s Stanford Prize, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship and a Rona Jaffe Award, among other honors. Her work has been widely anthologized and is included in American Hybrid (Norton), and I'll Drown My Book: Conceptual Writing by Women (Les Figues). She is the Kenan Chair in the Humanities at Wake Forest University.
Challenging poems that are best read out loud to "hear" the source texts the poet is playing with. The technique is thought-provoking, but the passion is missing. I felt, the whole time, like I was a rock being skipped on the surface of language's pond. If you like that type of experience, by all means, read this book. I, however, prefer depth rather than cleverness.
I met Laura Mullen at an AWP conference several years ago. Was introduced to her over wine and nibbles. Her smile and wit were provocative. Later I attended her reading, and heard her read from this book. I was swept away by the freshness of the rhythm, the uncommon stutters and flutters. Hearing her, I could see how true to herself this work is. Holding the book and reading it myself, it loses something. Yet I pick it up from time to time and strain to remember her, the person, out there toward the edge zinging out these lines and making her delicious almost-sense out of them.
Thus, I know it's my own fault for not engaging with this book--it's an open text, asking for my interaction, yet I can't seem to find a way to connect yet. Very innovative and temptingly brilliant, but I need to re-read it--over and over again.