Thirsts

by Pearl Pirie

Thirsts, denied and indulged, overt and so subtle as to be unnoticeable, have a sometimes unexamined power in our lives. The passions we hold for one another. The poems in Thirsts descend from language, whether turns of local phrase to turns at the scrabble board. words and frames obliquely enter and exit the heart from behind convenient foundation hedges.

Genres: Poetry

88 pages, Paperback

First published October 28, 2011

About the author

Fourth Collection footlights (Radiant Press)

My third collection, the pet radish, shrunken (book*hug, 2015) won the Lampman Award.

author site:
www.pearlpirie.com

I'm most active on twitter as pesbo.
See also patreon.com/pearlpiriepoet
and instagram.com/PearlPiriePoet

on vimeo: https://vimeo.com/29603462
a 2012 reading from Thirsts, been shed bore and Mammals of Hoarfrost at Poets Live in Paris. Fellow readers with Peter Hughes and Bonny Finberg.

Reviews

[Philip Gordon · Rating 3 out of 5]

This collection was the winner of the 2011 Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry--comparing it to 2010's winner by Jake Kennedy, *The Lateral*, I can see the same proclivity for experimentation, but felt a noticeable difference in terms of novelty and innovation itself.

While *The Lateral* was composed of sections, giving each form of poetry a distinct area to experiment, Pirie's collection seemed demarcated purely arbitrarily. Overall, this was a general collection of meditations on a variety of subjects, but seemed to be lacking the bold shattering of form that the previous year's winner was capable of.

I felt a bit of Heather Christle and bpNichol in Pirie's work, noting the snippets of humour and pop culture of the former and the wrangling and pataphysics of the latter (Pirie even mentions patabiology at one point, an obvious nod to Nichol's work). Like both poets in their weaker states, however, Pirie's poetry seemed to be much more intent on manipulating words and bouncing around inside her own head instead of communicating images, narrative, or meaning. There were stand-out methods in several poems, but overall, the act of reading this collection felt a bit passive--most of the poems were too foggy to present an ability for a firm grasp on their subject matter, and that fogginess left an overall unsatisfied feeling upon completion. The poems were obviously crafted with care and attention to language, but manipulation of spelling and syntax purely for its own sake did not prove rewarding for me, similar to Nichol's experimentation in the same way.

[Margo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading Pearl Pirie's award-winning collection is stepping out blazing sun that makes you shield your eyes & you feel it immediately on your skin: it feels good, in a way that's direct and diffuse at the same time.

The richness and rhythm of Pirie's language mean you could enjoy the poems on the basis of the language itself, but there are micro-narrative gems abound. I read Thirsts a few years ago (2014? Ah, yes, probably in Dundonald Park in Ottawa) and now, rereading, I think I'd like to write a few poems or short stories of my own in response to/inspired by Pearl's. My first choice for this exercise would probably involve "& A Couple Rumbles of Engine": "potholes, potholders, roll / the radio dial. some things / he has to gain — perhaps a / disconnect. or to / review / how the skin can rejoin / dryness to eye, palm."

"Arched Angel" is another favourite, about a rainfall caused by the sweat of an angel's solo sex session: "pshaw, that come in commission / the o in omission, the miss / in missionary bucked / off. her nebula garter belt slipped / off her cumulous thigh."

I admire her line breaks, and despite the playfulness of the content and language there is deliberate choice and intention in form. Each one of these poems invites closer reading, further discussion.

Worth reading more than once!

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Pearl Pirie's Thirsts, like the yin-yang, denies the reader's thirst, and by denying it makes the reader aware of their thirst - so much the better to indulge it.

a bellybutton learns more of
itself from fingers

than from winking at other
bellybuttons. the real motion

sweats. the feet, the hips,
their releases.

- Learns Itself from Wind, pg. 8

*

as the jug is made of
clay, made by
the space it contains

the measuring cup
is created by fire
by habits of gesture.

with lines worn away
the knowledge of rates,
flow is in familiar hands.

- After Lao Zhe, Kay, pg. 18

*

a dog returning -
in his mouth
the same ole schtick

- pg. 25

*

it's a hooted drib
from toil to toile
a big god, wait

for it: the hic
of an obit while
a tory fiddles
to detain moss.

a tank of h spilled.
the country is a slat
of gargled quag
of ads, to mire. a night
a mare, a mari
usque ad mare

go coax a whew-verb
from the ave
& ave-not zees.

- Internal Inquiries Will Yield Naught, pg. 33

* * *

once all is salt
and dun, win
the lottery and align

with someone else's
desires. at the corner
of genie & gone

nod & nod. at the hex
of drama's dish, yep,
a vulva's eye & iota?

- On the Tufts of A.M., pg. 41

* * *

the delectable year of ear nips
replacing gum. you keep
the crisp crunch of sugar intact.
I suction out a tug of self-esteem.
rubbery, it fit inside a jellybean

that summer I spent calling
every porsche funny-bum
and laughing on a loop.

that time when the throat
sprouted spontaneous
salivary glands at the scent
of just picked strawberries. we,
pocket empty, kissing instead.

- chewing each other, pg. 55

* * *

a word is a porous box.
a voluntary cage.
perhaps. refuse all words
but the universal? what
will keep out the rain?
what to huddle under
for group heat? it seems
like such a small
violin, comparatively -
age guides which subjects
the banalities are about.
the curt nope in unopened
has a good crisp click.

- Negotiating, Defining Acceptable Terms, pg. 63