Sara Daniele Rivera’s award-winning debut is a collection of sprawling elegy in the face of catastrophic grief, both personal and public. From the lead-up to the 2016 presidential election through the COVID-19 pandemic, these poems memorialize lost loved ones and meditate on the not-yet gone—all while the wider-world loses its sense of connection, safety, and assurance. In those years of mourning, The Blue Mimes is a book of grounding and heartening resolve, even and especially in the states of uncertainty that define the human condition.
Rivera’s poems travel between Albuquerque, Lima, and Havana, deserts and coastlines and cities, Spanish and English—between modes of language and culture that shape the contours of memory and expose the fault lines of the self. In those inevitable fractures, with honest, off-kilter precision, Rivera vividly renders the ways in which the bereft become approximations of themselves as a means of survival, mimicking the stilted actions of the people they once were. Where speech is not enough, this astonishing collection finds a radical practice in continued searching, endurance without promise—the rifts in communion and incomplete pictures that afford the possibility to heal.
Sara Daniele Rivera is a Cuban and Peruvian American artist, writer, translator, and educator from Albuquerque, New Mexico. She received her MFA in creative writing from Boston University. Her writing has appeared in the Loft Anthology, The Green Mountains Review, Storyscape Journal, spoKe, The Breakbeat Poets Vol. 4: LatiNext, Speculative Fiction for Dreamers: a Latinx Anthology, The Bat City Review, and elsewhere. She was the recipient of a 2017 St. Botolph Club Emerging Artist Award, the winner of the 2018 Stephen Dunn Prize in Poetry from Solstice Literary Magazine, and a 2022 Tin House resident. She is the co-translator of The Blinding Star: Selected Poems of Blanca Varela (Tolsun Books, 2021). She lives in Albuquerque.
I am at a loss for words after reading this collection, as though Sara Daniele Rivera had just ripped the few that remained from the cavity of my chest. These poems are a powerful expression of loss and grief that turn over themselves in an exquisite braid of language. It’s only January and I already know this will be one of my—if not most—favorite book I’ll read this year. I cannot wait to own a copy of this in print. Thank you NetGalley for the advanced copy.
Beautifully written. These collections of poems in English and Spanish shows some thoughtful moments. The words in these poems are a worth of an expression.
Thanks to the publishers at Graywolf Press and NetGalley for giving me an opportunity to read this collection of poems and do a review.
I may be a little biased since my lovely wife wrote it, but I highly recommend picking this one up! The poems are captivating and stick with you, and the work she does with form and structure gives the book something else that’s truly unique.
Read for Poetry with Pat. Pandemic. Border crisis. Insurrection. Strange to realize that these major geo-socio-political events are now history rather than our everyday and everynight reality. Poems that brought me back or offered hope for the future include: Keys 🔑 Rompecabezas 🧩 summer at taos Abrigar Telephone Game ☎️ Algodones The House It Is 🏡 Plus the beautiful line drawings and words of: Semillas de lucuma
Ghosts in a room talking through walls of immortal paint. Which is here or not the meeting of illusion and the fathers we know in after thought come back like a well of imagination
Favorite Poems: “Earthworks” “January” “summer at taos” “Abrigar” “With a Destructive Obsession” “Naufragios” “The House It Is” “Fields Anointed with Poppies”
A beautiful collection of poems — written in both English and Spanish — touching on themes of grief, loss, and melancholy. Definitely a book I’ll revisit over and over again.
(Thank you, Graywolf Press and NetGalley, for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.)
Please note: I won this book in a GoodReads giveaway.
Beautiful collection of poems. The last few really hit me hard as I recently lost my father. I especially loved Rivera’s flow of language that allowed her to easily transition between English and Spanish.
My only critique is that a few poems allowed for a lot of white space on the page. I get it’s artistic and does convey some meaning, but it felt a little overdone near the end.
Gorgeous. Heart wrenching. An exposition on what it is to be human. I had tears in my eyes during most of the poems and felt connected to people I didn't even know, but I know have shared these similar situations in life. Too often, I think we assume that we are entirely alone in our experiences but we have more in common with perfect strangers that we anticipate and this collection of poems shows just that.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t read poetry, sometimes from multiple collections. I’m so glad to have found and been an early reader of The Blue Mimes. I particularly enjoy poems that touch on time, grief and memory; this collection by Sara Daniele Rivera alludes to all that and then some. She opens up her heart and lays bare her immense grief for ones she’s lost. Being at a time when the world is in the grips of a pandemic, we see how this makes the healing process more difficult and extended. Her blending of language and culture make this an absolutely beautiful collection.
I am so thankful for the auto-approvals of Graywolf Press on Netgalley and Sara Daniele Rivera for granting me access to this wonderfully bittersweet collection of poems. The Blue Mimes speaks of the times during and after great political tension, global health risks, the transparency of never-truer colors, and generational hurt that reveals itself time and time again. This collection is set to hit shelves on April 2, 2024, and I'm so excited!
Sara Daniele Rivera’s Blue Mimes is an astonishing debut that resonated deeply with me on multiple levels. As someone who is always drawn to explorations of the Hispanic experience in the U.S., and who holds a deep love for poetry, I found myself immediately captivated by this bilingual collection. My initial interest was sparked by a coworker’s enthusiastic recommendation, but what I found within these pages went beyond my expectations.
Rivera’s poems are a poignant and sprawling elegy, navigating the choppy waters of catastrophic grief—both personal and public. The collection spans from the lead-up to the 2016 presidential election through the COVID-19 pandemic, a period marked by loss and disconnection. The poems move seamlessly between Albuquerque, Lima, and Havana, traversing deserts, coastlines, and cities, and blending Spanish and English in a way that feels both natural and essential. For me, these cultural references and linguistic shifts were not just relatable but grounding, offering a sense of shared experience and identity.
What struck me most, however, was how these poems dealt with grief. As someone currently grappling with my own loss, I found unexpected solace in Rivera’s words. There’s something profoundly connective about reading another’s exploration of grief—despite not knowing the author or her loved ones, there is a shared understanding that transcends the specifics of our experiences. Rivera’s depiction of the bereft, as people who mimic the actions of who they once were as a means of survival, was particularly moving. It’s an honest portrayal of the ways in which grief fractures us, yet also hints at the possibility of healing, however incomplete it might be.
The Blue Mimes is more than just a collection of poetry; it’s a testament to endurance, a radical practice of searching for meaning and connection in a world that often feels disjointed and uncertain. Rivera’s off-kilter precision and vivid imagery brought me into her world of mourning, and in doing so, offered a sense of community in the face of isolation.
This is a collection that will stay with me for a long time, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is navigating grief or simply appreciates powerful, culturally rich poetry.
A thoughtful meditation on loss. An exploration of grief over the loss of her father. Musings on separation. A response to tragedies personal and public. There’s a strong sense of searching, of trying to draw conclusions and fill gaps. This is a beautiful collection of poems. The poems are evocative. Often breathtaking and impactful in the moment, but they also inspire thought. I found myself making many personal connections while reading. I love that. I want a poem that gives me beautiful language. I also, more importantly, want a poem to transport me.
I happened upon The Blue Mimes when browsing through Graywolf’s recent releases. I am so glad that I decided to buy a copy. I know that I will revisit this collection. I found unnecessary obfuscation in phrases within a few poems, but I have a feeling this poet will outgrow that urge with continued success and confidence over the next few years of what’s sure to be a long and fruitful career. I look forward to reading more by Sara Daniele Rivera in the future.
A note on language: The poems are primarily in English with some Spanish, often as echoes. If you don’t know Spanish, don’t let it scare you off. The poet often translates for you. Where she doesn’t, a bit of quick translating will get you where you need to go, and it’s well worth the effort.
"You become a progressive tense, alive / in a memory as in the juncture of a moment."
In The Blue Mimes, Rivera yells out into void, confused, hurt, angry, only to have the words echoed back with warmth and understanding. The echo, a reverberation translated into comfort, letting itself and therefore yourself, become known. It tells you, the memory hurts, physically, but it's also ephemeral: one day it will be gone. Grief is heavy, but there are ways to carry it so it doesn't absolutely crush you. Within it, there are moments of beauty, de extrañar, but there are also moments of melancholy, de gravedad. We hold these all these facets, try to divvy them up and end up with the same thing.
I felt soothed and uplifted by this collection. Truly a wondrous set of poems. We need more of Sara Daniele Rivera's writing in this topsy-turvy world.
The poems in "The Blue Mimes" display a clear intentionality, but the collection feels incomplete. Writer Sara Daniele Rivera explores some recurring themes--the loss of her father, migrants' journeys, family myths and memories--but the language didn't lodge in my memory.
A clear standout poem might have helped, but on the whole the collection feels like a promising early draft from a poet who's still defining herself.
***
"on an evening run I pass fields anointed with poppies. A rabbit is
decaying where my route breaks into desert and every day every time I step over it, it is a little less.
I am continuing past you. The changes are changes I have to catalog.
Every day lift new smells from the earth. A little lilac. A little less.
You were dying while our hearts traveled root-pathways to arrive inside. The tiniest chamber inside the last galón de oxígeno we could get. We couldn’t save what was far from us. We couldn’t save what was near. I’m trying to believe we were earthworks together, a spiral seam, division between earth and snow, leaves of one color bleeding into leaves of another.
you speak to me in strips of light in words i can pronounce you are what i find & what i found along the road in the tumbled shadowed white & you who gave me a name you give me a turn let me drive out at night starlight in every breach
amazing new poet with imagery and music in every line that speaks to the beauty of being human.
A collection of poems about grief, loss, the pandemic, family, and identity.
from Keys: "In a memory, a memory you / wrote down, you eat stolen // mango in the sepia / of a photography, the day everyone in // your family wore the same color / without planning it, but film // couldn't capture that / particular miracle— // hit a stick against the trunk / of memory and everything / comes shaking down."
from multi-nights: "and if you / could have known who / in you life would desert you / before cooking them dinner / who would you choose / to burn"
from The House It Is: "Absence is playing, leaping, / reproducing. The way // ecosystems rebuild is too clean / a metaphor for hope: // in loss, gain, etc. no, we, horrible animal, lending the world back to itself."
This book is stunning, and its publication is absolutely deserved.
We are invited into Rivera’s life, and heart. The moments that culture becomes a tender monument do not feel like a door being slammed shut in my face. The weaving of Spanish into this collection challenges the reader to confront language as a membrane, and there were times that I translated it, there were times that she translated it, and there were times that I left it a mystery-not because I didn’t care, but because I felt comfortable with the author enough to trust that the mystery was also beautiful.
i picked this up on a whim but i loved it! i am always drawn to poems about loss and grief, and this collection resonated with me in many ways. i also enjoyed brushing up on my spanish :’)
Maybe there is no direction from here. Only recognition of light posts studding the road, terror broken by intervals of hope. Which must give some advantage, right? Which must illuminate us forward or back.
I am always amazed when an author can show immense depth of feeling in few words, and Rivera does just that. In The Blue Mimes, grief is explored in a way that feels genuine and accessible, while also being wholly original and in a class of its own. I don’t often read poetry, but I was captivated immediately. There were several poems, particularly Fields Anointed with Poppies, that I went back to read over and over again.
I loved this collection for the lyricism, the word play, and most of all the layering of Spanish and English. "My challenge: always find/ space to occupy. I sit/ on the annex stairwell,/ looking back through windows/ like an aged doll. Last night/ you said 'que sueños con los/ angelitos' pero la mañana no me acuerdo/ si aparecieron o no."
“Some days I'm a pendulum that exists on a planet / that periodically loses gravity. Some days / my light is spent, the light-years required / to travel back to myself too many.”
Love the way Rivera uses language, not just code-switching between English and Spanish but commenting on language use, the ways language covers meaning and memory. “Abrigar” was a favorite.
A poetry collection that's gentle, mournful, quiet. Though the words within did not particularly stir or resonate with me does not mean they do not have power to stir others.