"The title of Melnick’s stunning book is a microcosm of the poems within—the uncertainty of if I should say followed by the defiance of I have hope. Her poems follow moments of unmooredness (I am best / when I dabble in consciousness and a soundly / spinning room) with blinding insight (You wouldn’t know happy if it kissed you on the mouth)—tiptoeing followed by a kick to the head. On the melancholy-go-round of these poems, there’s a swan-seat for sadness but also a tiger called Beauty and a horse called Hope. The unexpected music and syntax of Melnick’s work will make you want to ride/read it again and again."
Lynn Melnick is the author of the memoir, I've Had to Think Up a Way to Survive: On Trauma, Persistence, and Dolly Parton, from the University of Texas Press's American Music Series/Spiegel & Grau Audio (October 2022). The paperback is available now from Spiegel & Grau.
She is also the author of three poetry collections, Refusenik (2022), a finalist for the National Jewish Book Award, Landscape with Sex and Violence (2017), and If I Should Say I Have Hope (2012), all with YesYes Books, and the co-editor of Please Excuse This Poem: 100 Poets for the Next Generation (Viking, 2015).
Her work has appeared in APR, LA Review of Books, The New Republic, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Poetry, A Public Space, and the anthology Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture.
She has received grants from the Cafe Royal Cultural Society and the Hadassah-Brandeis Institute. A former fellow at the New York Public Library’s Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers, and previously on the executive board of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts, she currently teaches poetry at Columbia University and Princeton University. Born in Indianapolis, she grew up in Los Angeles and currently lives in Brooklyn.
Lynn Melnick is intense, she does things on purpose, ie she has technique; one of her favorite techniques is repetition and I like the way she uses it to up the intensity of her work. For example, p. 29..."...drowning out the violence/ with violence, making our own scars with bits of broken anything/ closer and closer to the heart, beating/whatever's beating us to the punch, no matter/the hour, whatever the weather." I love "making ...scars with bits of broken anything:" she makes it new, but she also gets it right. And look at the repetition, and in those lines, violence closer and beating, are all repeated almost right away and that repetition is put to good use; and then at the end, she does another variation on repetition, by paralleling no matter/ the hour with whatever the weather. Look for this repetition throughout this book. And watch how deftly she uses it. She always gets something out of it beyond just dumb repetition. And she can cut to the quick, p. 19 "But that isn't possible.(italics). No. But is this?" I'm not always sure what the poems mean exactly, I get the constant absence and loss, but I'm pretty sure they're always good.
These poems are gutsy and thrilling, revolutionary and addictive. If I Should Say I Have Hope is a an unflinching portrait of modern childhood / womanhood / personhood. Melnick will move you and shake you up. Do not be afraid. This is an essential book.
The title of Melnick’s stunning book is a microcosm of the poems within—the uncertainty of If I Should Say followed by the defiance of I Have Hope. Her poems follow moments of unmooredness ("I am best / when I dabble in consciousness and a soundly / spinning room") with blinding insight (“You wouldn’t know happy if it kissed you on the mouth”)—tiptoeing followed by a kick to the head. On the melancholy-go-round of these poems, there’s a swan-seat for sadness but also a tiger called Beauty and a horse called Hope. The unexpected music and syntax of Melnick’s work will make you want to ride/read it again and again.
These poems adeptly step back and forth between safety and discomfort, passion and outrage, but they do it so subtly a second or third reading is often necessary to fully grasp what the narrators are saying. I was unfamiliar with Melnick's work before reading this book, but now I'm a fan. The poems are mesmerizing. They read smoothly, while not sacrificing depth. They show interesting images that lead to deeper meanings, both personal and universal, as with these lines from one of my favorites, "Niagara":
"I was embarrassed
because the scene didn't take my breath away like I had wanted it to. Majestic, yes, and
sure, I could imagine falling because I always imagine falling
but there was something about the way the lavender of the sweater you bought me
split open
the mist and the gray that had me thinking
things don't have to be sweeping to be beautiful,
they don't have to kill me to make me love them."
Yes, this was a lovely and powerful collection. It goes on my shelf as one I'll read again.