What do you think?
Rate this book
If I Falter at the Gallows by Edward Mullany
Edward Mullany's first book is a collection of poems that Graham Foust called "devices that help us help ourselves to all the mirages and illusions—and then some—that we know to be true."
- GenresPoetry
Paperback
First published October 25, 2011
59 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
October 27, 2011
I read Edward Mullany’s phenomenal collection If I Falter at the Gallows while sitting alone at the Laundromat. I sipped a strong cup of coffee as I watched my pants, socks, briefs, and so on flop and tick in steady circles. I picked up Mullany’s book, read a piece, put it down, pondered, repeated. When I finished, I felt clean and fresh, and also inspired.
The Not So Simple Truth
Potatoes. Dirt and
water. And a soft
towel left for us while
we shower. These
things are no
truer for their
plainness than peas
or pus or leprosy.
Comprised of concise poems, mostly, and a few blocks of prosetry/verse fiction, Mullany’s debut collection is an absolute stunner. He moves effortlessly from heartfelt to whimsical to surprising to shocking to serious to humorous, and he does so with simple, straightforward action and imagery. Edward’s words are as honest and warm as a pair of socks right from the dryer, and they’re just as pleasant to handle.
Comic Relief
At the top
of a dune
in the desert,
a bearded
man appears, only
to be pushed
in the back
and caused
to tumble down
the dune by
another bearded
man.
Edward creates strings that are paradoxically foreign and familiar. Within the pieces, and sometimes behind them, there exists the presence of violence or the potential for it—the brilliant textual reworking of American Gothic shows a family filled with gun lust—and Edward’s creations are interested in the study of this violence, this bubbling, primal need that roils at humanity’s core. To me, the pieces marvel, right along with us, at that which they contain. It’s a paradox, again, by way of navel gazing through to an innate depiction of what it means to bear witness. In simpler terms, perhaps, it’s life looking at life looking at life, endlessly.
Ragtime
We forget in which zoos foolish
humans cause their
own mauling. A philosopher sticks
his head into the fire, so
what? Here is an earth. Here is another
earth. Here is another earth.
Once our eyes slip from the page, these pieces continue on for miles and miles, through lives and deaths. They’re filled, each of them, with an odd, grinning infinity, and with the booming magnificence of change.
A Suicide In The Family
The doorbell rings. Or a mountain
speaks to a mountain
in a language only
mountains understand.
This book has fast become a favorite of mine because it isn’t simply for poets or fiction writers or mothers or shaggy sons left alone to watch clothes at a Laundromat—nay!—this book is for everyone because it’s accessible to everyone, and there’s no doubt in my mind that anyone who reads this collection will find in it something familiar to them, something that rings of home, and of something much larger than themselves.
Edward Mullany’s If I Falter at the Gallows is an embrace, pressing lightly the shoulders of the cosmos. I recommend this book so highly I’m in danger of falling off the ladder.
The Not So Simple Truth
Potatoes. Dirt and
water. And a soft
towel left for us while
we shower. These
things are no
truer for their
plainness than peas
or pus or leprosy.
Comprised of concise poems, mostly, and a few blocks of prosetry/verse fiction, Mullany’s debut collection is an absolute stunner. He moves effortlessly from heartfelt to whimsical to surprising to shocking to serious to humorous, and he does so with simple, straightforward action and imagery. Edward’s words are as honest and warm as a pair of socks right from the dryer, and they’re just as pleasant to handle.
Comic Relief
At the top
of a dune
in the desert,
a bearded
man appears, only
to be pushed
in the back
and caused
to tumble down
the dune by
another bearded
man.
Edward creates strings that are paradoxically foreign and familiar. Within the pieces, and sometimes behind them, there exists the presence of violence or the potential for it—the brilliant textual reworking of American Gothic shows a family filled with gun lust—and Edward’s creations are interested in the study of this violence, this bubbling, primal need that roils at humanity’s core. To me, the pieces marvel, right along with us, at that which they contain. It’s a paradox, again, by way of navel gazing through to an innate depiction of what it means to bear witness. In simpler terms, perhaps, it’s life looking at life looking at life, endlessly.
Ragtime
We forget in which zoos foolish
humans cause their
own mauling. A philosopher sticks
his head into the fire, so
what? Here is an earth. Here is another
earth. Here is another earth.
Once our eyes slip from the page, these pieces continue on for miles and miles, through lives and deaths. They’re filled, each of them, with an odd, grinning infinity, and with the booming magnificence of change.
A Suicide In The Family
The doorbell rings. Or a mountain
speaks to a mountain
in a language only
mountains understand.
This book has fast become a favorite of mine because it isn’t simply for poets or fiction writers or mothers or shaggy sons left alone to watch clothes at a Laundromat—nay!—this book is for everyone because it’s accessible to everyone, and there’s no doubt in my mind that anyone who reads this collection will find in it something familiar to them, something that rings of home, and of something much larger than themselves.
Edward Mullany’s If I Falter at the Gallows is an embrace, pressing lightly the shoulders of the cosmos. I recommend this book so highly I’m in danger of falling off the ladder.
February 2, 2012
Mullany's poems are short, spooky things. They seem to distill life into hyper close-up, a white sheet falling from space or the all-encompassing hum of a blowdryer. There is a dry humor throughout as well and it pops its head up at the most unexpected times (inciting uneasy laughter). This collection signals the arrival of a new magician in the short poem genre.
Read
November 5, 2011Even if you don't like much poetry, you likely might like this poetry. Edward Mullany's poems will stay with you long after you've read them. They will make you think - they demand it. And they make you think about things you might not want to think about. That is part of what makes them so good.
October 10, 2011
review + interview forthcoming at Monkeybicycle
February 22, 2012
Ed's poems are snow angels
April 22, 2012
I will echo much of what other reviewers have already said about Edward Mullany's If I Falter at the Gallows. This book is a treasure of 70ish micro-poems. The first poem has eleven words. Some are longer. All are strange, but not in the alienating way of the hip writing of today's oh-so-cool indie poets. This is because Mullany doesn't shirk being vulnerable. These poems let you into their strangeness. Strange in a joyously laughable way. Strangely heartbreaking. Strangely poignant. Strange as in surreal or dream-like. Strange mind-fucks. Uneventful strangeness.
The last two lines of one of my favorite poems in the collection, "Estranged," illustrates the surreal, yet vulnerable voice Mullany often employs. Here, a man speaks to a woman playing the clarinet from a balcony as he walks through the garden below:
The breeze carried me trebles,
and I swallowed them.
Moments like these depict deep loneliness and what keeps us alive. Mullany also often uses language to break down an image to something almost unrecognizable, as in the ending of "The Great Refusal":
Here is the sky.
Here is a part of the sky.
Here is a part of a part of the sky.
Mullany successfully balances between multiple subjects, zooming in on intimate, mundane, terrifying, and laughable moments, and often illuminating the intersections of strangeness between them. Because of this ability to apply a lens to all aspects of experience, and not merely obsessing over one, such as the grotesque or sentimental, If I Falter at the Gallows is a genuinely satisfying and fresh book of poetry. Mullany will have you aching, puzzling, and laughing with each page turn.
The last two lines of one of my favorite poems in the collection, "Estranged," illustrates the surreal, yet vulnerable voice Mullany often employs. Here, a man speaks to a woman playing the clarinet from a balcony as he walks through the garden below:
The breeze carried me trebles,
and I swallowed them.
Moments like these depict deep loneliness and what keeps us alive. Mullany also often uses language to break down an image to something almost unrecognizable, as in the ending of "The Great Refusal":
Here is the sky.
Here is a part of the sky.
Here is a part of a part of the sky.
Mullany successfully balances between multiple subjects, zooming in on intimate, mundane, terrifying, and laughable moments, and often illuminating the intersections of strangeness between them. Because of this ability to apply a lens to all aspects of experience, and not merely obsessing over one, such as the grotesque or sentimental, If I Falter at the Gallows is a genuinely satisfying and fresh book of poetry. Mullany will have you aching, puzzling, and laughing with each page turn.
April 18, 2013
I bought this at a bookstore in Bmore because it had a dog on the cover. Sometimes I imagine that really small poems maybe don't contain much depth, but I was pretty taken with this book. I read it twice while I was at BWI waiting for my plane. I'm not quite sure yet about the collection being in 2 parts--if that has meaning--I would need to actually think about it more. But I'm in Taiwan and cannot sleep, which means I'm not really going to think about this right now. Anyway, I thought this was great.
June 9, 2012
Added a fifth star after noticing how often I remember lines or scenes and go back and read these.
AMERICAN GOTHIC
A woman with a gun, and a man
with a gun, and a child with a gun, and a dog with
a gun held between its two
front paws face
the camera.
DEMONOLOGY
If two
men
encounter, on
the road out
of the city, one man coming
into the city, they
will agree (having observed
him from a long
way off) on whether or how
to greet him.
AMERICAN GOTHIC
A woman with a gun, and a man
with a gun, and a child with a gun, and a dog with
a gun held between its two
front paws face
the camera.
DEMONOLOGY
If two
men
encounter, on
the road out
of the city, one man coming
into the city, they
will agree (having observed
him from a long
way off) on whether or how
to greet him.
November 9, 2011
This kept going as good as it started. I probably should have enjoyed this at a slower pace, though... I'll have to come back through it a piece at a time in the future. It changes gears, it goes here and there. Enjoy.
March 5, 2012
read this book!!!!
August 8, 2017
There is probably a very cohesive chapbook in this collection, where each short poem reads like a last-minute consolation, or a convoluted-yet-clear meditation on life. Not sure there's enough to sustain it over a full-length manuscript.
October 7, 2018
How many lines does one need to write a perfect poem? I believe Edward might say two, or if he were being generous, four. At least, that's all he needs. My recommendation: read the poem before reading the title. And when you do read the title, see if your reaction is not "Oh My" - it quite often will be.
June 26, 2012
I'm not sure what I want to say about poetry with the rules/lack of rules in poetry, but I found some of these poems too short to mean much, and others totally befuddling (like 14 hairdryers). A lot of them read more like fortune cookies, so, if you like that!
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews