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Interrobang
Existing at the intersection of darkness and play, the noisy, irreverent, and self-conscious poems in Interrobang take clinical “phobias” and clinical “philias” as their conceit. Each poem makes its own music, the crescendos and decrescendos born of obsessions over anxiety and lust. Encompassing a range of forms (but mostly sonnets), each piece toes the line between traditional meter and contemporary sonic play, while a tell-tale heart beats beneath the floor of the collection, constantly reminding us of our shames, fears, and the clock’s unrelenting ticking. Through individual stories about love, degradation of the self, the redemptive power of genuine humility, and the refuge offered by art and language, Interrobang , winner of the 2012 A Room of Her Own Foundation To the Lighthouse Poetry Publication Prize, illustrates how even the worst-case scenario of these pathologies are, fundamentally, just extensions of the dark truths to which every one of us can relate.
- GenresPoetry
72 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2013
3 people are currently reading
162 people want to read
About the author
Jessica Piazza
13 books39 followersJessica Piazza is the author of three poetry collections: "Interrobang" (Red Hen Press), "This is not a sky" (Black Lawrence Press) and, with Heather Aimee O'Neill, "Obliterations" (Red Hen Press) and a children’s book, “Olivia Otter Builds Her Raft” (FemInEm 2018). Originally from Brooklyn, NY, she holds a Ph.D. in Creative Writing and English Literature from the University of Southern California, an M.A. in English Literature /Creative Writing from the University of Texas at Austin and a B.S. in Journalism from Boston University. She is co-founder of Gold Line Press and Bat City Review, and curated the Poetry Has Value blog, which explored the intersections of poetry, money and worth. You can learn more and read her work at www.jessicapiazza.com.
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Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews
July 12, 2016
Because if you don't rate your own book five stars, who will?
July 7, 2014
Interrobang is the sweetest kind of poetry, the blue denim kind, the real kind. The kind you'd see Springsteen writing, the slow easy kind that is rife with humanity and insights and what's going on in the deeper parts of that thing we call a soul. This isn't snooty poetry. This is fresh and easy to read; even easier to savour. I have spent the last couple nights with it, enjoying each poem like I'd let the world's best ice cream melt on my tongue, and I recommend it, highly, to anyone whose heart yearns for truth and wonder.
September 10, 2013
Jessica Piazza is able to combine everything that is complex and layered about poetry into a package that is refreshingly accessible for any kind of reader. While these poems are carefully crafted and expertly formal, all the work is hidden from the reader-- as it should be. If you enjoy formal poetry, you'll marvel at the craftsmanship of these poems. If you do not, you'll simply enjoy the power of the words. These poems speak to our fears and loves and get at the heart of what makes us human. The images are fresh, original and thought provoking. It's the kind of book you read over and over again and get something different from every time. It's simply just good poetry-- the kind that you come back to again and again.
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June 25, 2024Dnf
July 25, 2016
I was so excited to win this very special book. I loved every page.
So refreshing and unique, this book stands out and shines. A must read!
So refreshing and unique, this book stands out and shines. A must read!
Read
June 25, 2014You can read my review here.
December 19, 2015
I definitely think you should read these poems out loud. They're magical.
"Theophobia: if you love everyone, then who am I?"
"Theophobia: if you love everyone, then who am I?"
July 17, 2017
The following review focuses primarily on Jessica Piazza's poem, "The Prolific."
This poem is stunning, in the way so many of Piazza’s poems are stunning—they are imagistic, rhythmic, and (perhaps most importantly) internally aware of the changes that inhabit their space, and that inhabit the larger arch of the collection. Because of this, there is an implied conversation that occurs between these poems, drawing attention to the discrepancies that are projected onto the persona or the situation that surrounds her. These discrepancies have very little to do with unreliability or lack of attention to detail; rather, they reflect the impermanence of our humanly situations, as well as the potential falseness of our memories. Much of this collection operates around the complex concept of transformation, which opens doors to, both, longing and our own limitations.
Piazza’s poems are complex and require great and consistent effort to gain access. For instance, the first five lines of this poem operated strictly as a series of images for me—until I reached the sixth line, “each morning, as we passed on 23rd.” The simplicity of this detail, placing the persona and this male other on 23rd Street, recast that previous series of images as memories of landmarks along that stretch. This sort of shift in access to images and information is a constant, both in this poem and many others; it represents an opening up that occurs between the persona and the reader, particularly in a poem such as this one, when the final line of one sonnet is revised as the first line in the next, displaying some new truth to the story developed across the “Profilic” series.
What became the most daring and the most telling to me, however, were the lines:
. . . And if they can erase
a city with nostalgia’s sight—replace
the truth with things they loved—I wonder what
my own imperfect eye could substitute.
This final sentiment in the second-to-last sonnet—“I wonder what / my own imperfect eye could substitute”—seems to function as the central question in this poem, regarding the impermanence of our surroundings, the unreliability of memory, and even the concept of substitution, which may or may not work in our favor. When looking at all of these concepts, it can all be pared down to memory. What’s fascinating about memory as the central concept, here, is how the memory transforms how we view the world, and our relationship to it, and how it is always evolving:
. . . We walked the floor
of gum coating the ground, built toss by toss;
. . . It calmed me: a world built
of what’s beneath it, never done, the silt
foot-pounded down by countless hurried feet.
Though these lines are in reference to the Street itself, it also suggests something greater about memory: how our memory is hardly one large map of instances, but rather is a complex layering of references, reminders and transformed understanding. This idea relates to the larger connection, as well, and the instances in which one image transfigures into another—“a tree where raised / wires ought to be”—or is transposed onto another—“still there / in afterimages, a shadow where / a statue stood.” Both of these possibilities (though one relates specifically to the falseness of memory and the other to the afterimage, or transposing, of memory) further emphasize the impermanence of our surroundings and the longevity of memory, however untrue or changing.
Perhaps this suggests something about longing, as well. Often, in these poems, I find the use of memory and the transformation of an image, to relate specifically to a wanting back in, looking for a door that will allow us back into a shared space with a person or object, in the hope that they are the same as we left them. In the second-to-last sonnet, the persona reflects on the absence of one particular man over all others, and these reflections are recast into a meditational longing for what once was there, in the same place and in the same condition. This is a desire I believe we all experience at one time or another—a longing to return to something, or to have that something returned to us, in the here-and-now, somehow unchanged and lacking the memory of ever having been absent. A longing for a lack of change, even. However, we are constantly reminded as readers of this impossibility, due to the constant-flux that occurs in the persona, in the landscape, and in other accompanying figures. We are challenged to understand the demands of change; when one thing changes, it changes everything else, however minimally; and there is no way to regain that object in an unchanged state while remaining in our present. We have to choose; we can’t have both.
Though I have focused primarily on “The Prolific,” these sentiments of change, memory and the inclusion of the phobia and philia run deep throughout this collection. I found myself challenged—threatened, even—by the shifts imposed upon the persona and the longing that is so inherent to these poems. This collection threw me back into my own depths, my own grief and fears, and left me cycling-in-place in a way very reflective of the persona: living in the present but longing for things of the past, somehow pairing them together in my mind and losing the realities of what used to be, creating instead an ideology. Perhaps that is why the role of Phobia and the Philia became so important, so remarkable, to me; they not only worked to categorize feelings around loss and longing, but they also represented the positive-negative complication of memory. Sometimes they even functioned as a direct opposition to what is expected—dreading the good memories of something lost, and thriving on the negative, giving us reason to lessen our affection for the lost. Sometimes that’s just how grief works.
Jessica Piazza’s Interrobang is a truly-stunning collection that is, at its deepest, heartfelt and frightening to the core, in the way it opens us up and searches through our most-secret parts, our memories, our emotions. It is an emotionally-challenging collection that is imagistic and rhythmic, and it is highly unforgettable. This is a collection I’ll be thinking about for quite some time, especially as I return to some of those old, harder memories and try to transform them into something new, a poem, a piece, somewhere. The longer I think about it, the more I feel this collection expects that from me, as it will expect from others.
This poem is stunning, in the way so many of Piazza’s poems are stunning—they are imagistic, rhythmic, and (perhaps most importantly) internally aware of the changes that inhabit their space, and that inhabit the larger arch of the collection. Because of this, there is an implied conversation that occurs between these poems, drawing attention to the discrepancies that are projected onto the persona or the situation that surrounds her. These discrepancies have very little to do with unreliability or lack of attention to detail; rather, they reflect the impermanence of our humanly situations, as well as the potential falseness of our memories. Much of this collection operates around the complex concept of transformation, which opens doors to, both, longing and our own limitations.
Piazza’s poems are complex and require great and consistent effort to gain access. For instance, the first five lines of this poem operated strictly as a series of images for me—until I reached the sixth line, “each morning, as we passed on 23rd.” The simplicity of this detail, placing the persona and this male other on 23rd Street, recast that previous series of images as memories of landmarks along that stretch. This sort of shift in access to images and information is a constant, both in this poem and many others; it represents an opening up that occurs between the persona and the reader, particularly in a poem such as this one, when the final line of one sonnet is revised as the first line in the next, displaying some new truth to the story developed across the “Profilic” series.
What became the most daring and the most telling to me, however, were the lines:
. . . And if they can erase
a city with nostalgia’s sight—replace
the truth with things they loved—I wonder what
my own imperfect eye could substitute.
This final sentiment in the second-to-last sonnet—“I wonder what / my own imperfect eye could substitute”—seems to function as the central question in this poem, regarding the impermanence of our surroundings, the unreliability of memory, and even the concept of substitution, which may or may not work in our favor. When looking at all of these concepts, it can all be pared down to memory. What’s fascinating about memory as the central concept, here, is how the memory transforms how we view the world, and our relationship to it, and how it is always evolving:
. . . We walked the floor
of gum coating the ground, built toss by toss;
. . . It calmed me: a world built
of what’s beneath it, never done, the silt
foot-pounded down by countless hurried feet.
Though these lines are in reference to the Street itself, it also suggests something greater about memory: how our memory is hardly one large map of instances, but rather is a complex layering of references, reminders and transformed understanding. This idea relates to the larger connection, as well, and the instances in which one image transfigures into another—“a tree where raised / wires ought to be”—or is transposed onto another—“still there / in afterimages, a shadow where / a statue stood.” Both of these possibilities (though one relates specifically to the falseness of memory and the other to the afterimage, or transposing, of memory) further emphasize the impermanence of our surroundings and the longevity of memory, however untrue or changing.
Perhaps this suggests something about longing, as well. Often, in these poems, I find the use of memory and the transformation of an image, to relate specifically to a wanting back in, looking for a door that will allow us back into a shared space with a person or object, in the hope that they are the same as we left them. In the second-to-last sonnet, the persona reflects on the absence of one particular man over all others, and these reflections are recast into a meditational longing for what once was there, in the same place and in the same condition. This is a desire I believe we all experience at one time or another—a longing to return to something, or to have that something returned to us, in the here-and-now, somehow unchanged and lacking the memory of ever having been absent. A longing for a lack of change, even. However, we are constantly reminded as readers of this impossibility, due to the constant-flux that occurs in the persona, in the landscape, and in other accompanying figures. We are challenged to understand the demands of change; when one thing changes, it changes everything else, however minimally; and there is no way to regain that object in an unchanged state while remaining in our present. We have to choose; we can’t have both.
Though I have focused primarily on “The Prolific,” these sentiments of change, memory and the inclusion of the phobia and philia run deep throughout this collection. I found myself challenged—threatened, even—by the shifts imposed upon the persona and the longing that is so inherent to these poems. This collection threw me back into my own depths, my own grief and fears, and left me cycling-in-place in a way very reflective of the persona: living in the present but longing for things of the past, somehow pairing them together in my mind and losing the realities of what used to be, creating instead an ideology. Perhaps that is why the role of Phobia and the Philia became so important, so remarkable, to me; they not only worked to categorize feelings around loss and longing, but they also represented the positive-negative complication of memory. Sometimes they even functioned as a direct opposition to what is expected—dreading the good memories of something lost, and thriving on the negative, giving us reason to lessen our affection for the lost. Sometimes that’s just how grief works.
Jessica Piazza’s Interrobang is a truly-stunning collection that is, at its deepest, heartfelt and frightening to the core, in the way it opens us up and searches through our most-secret parts, our memories, our emotions. It is an emotionally-challenging collection that is imagistic and rhythmic, and it is highly unforgettable. This is a collection I’ll be thinking about for quite some time, especially as I return to some of those old, harder memories and try to transform them into something new, a poem, a piece, somewhere. The longer I think about it, the more I feel this collection expects that from me, as it will expect from others.
November 12, 2023
Easily my favorite poetry book I’ve bought in the last six months. Hooray, for random half price books finds! I’ve found myself going back and re-reading multiple poems over and over, out loud and I’m absolutely hooked on the vibe of each piece, more and more as I dissect different parts. I often donate books I didn’t like to the thrift stores, give the ones I liked to friends to pass it along, but this one made the rare trip to the bookshelf, where I can keep going back to it, over and over again. Incredible poet and writer. Very well done!
February 26, 2019
This was the first book of poetry that I have read cover to cover (based on the recommendation of a friend - thank you Ross :-).
The author's creative use of language was incredibly fun as was her alternating -phobia/-philia titles. Given my zero knowledge of poetry I'm not in a spot to comment on the quality of the poems, but I did find this an enjoyable read.
The author's creative use of language was incredibly fun as was her alternating -phobia/-philia titles. Given my zero knowledge of poetry I'm not in a spot to comment on the quality of the poems, but I did find this an enjoyable read.
February 19, 2024
A goddamn knockout.
October 4, 2024
Disjointed word scramble.
December 21, 2024
Sorry?? A whole book, mostly of sonnets, *in meter*? It's impressive to have a book that's this musical without becoming so indulgent that it stops making sense.
March 19, 2016
As a person who reads and understands poetry at a 2nd grade level (moving up!), I thought the structure of this collection was very clever. All the poems, except three longer ones with a dancing alliterative rhythm and rhyming scheme, are sonnets named after a -phobia or a -philia. For example, the poem titled "Asymmetriphobia: Fear of asymmetrical things" breaks the sonnet form and is ingeniously written in a...you guessed it...asymmetrical form. The poems "Eisoptrophilia: Love of mirrors" and "Eisoptrophobia: Fear of mirrors" are found on opposite pages and each 7-line poem completes the sonnet. Below is the unexpectedly beautiful "Pediophilia: Love of dolls".
The week her daughter died, the room her girl
had occupied became a home for dolls.
The first an angel: fearsome, glass-gazed gift
to dull a mother's utter grief; the next
a paint and porcelain she numbly bought
from QVC. It looked like her. And now
she sees her small grandchildren grow, and knows
it's good. But they can't guess each small doll dress
arranged by day comes into disarray
by night. They bring her more, naive. Don't know
she weeps in the overflowing sea of limbs
that manage, year by year, to commandeer
the bed, the floor, and more. An orphanage
of girls. A thousand eyes that cannot shut.
The week her daughter died, the room her girl
had occupied became a home for dolls.
The first an angel: fearsome, glass-gazed gift
to dull a mother's utter grief; the next
a paint and porcelain she numbly bought
from QVC. It looked like her. And now
she sees her small grandchildren grow, and knows
it's good. But they can't guess each small doll dress
arranged by day comes into disarray
by night. They bring her more, naive. Don't know
she weeps in the overflowing sea of limbs
that manage, year by year, to commandeer
the bed, the floor, and more. An orphanage
of girls. A thousand eyes that cannot shut.
June 9, 2016
I blew through this (admittedly short) collection of poems in just one sitting. Although not all of them are perfect, Piazza has a freakish number of poems that are. I especially enjoyed her relay style poems like "People Like Us."
I always find it difficult to recommend poetry, since I rarely know what makes me like it. You should like writers with rhythm, who are smart and enjoy playing with their words. If you do, I think you'll probably like this (or at least enough of it to make it worth reading).
4.5 stars.
I always find it difficult to recommend poetry, since I rarely know what makes me like it. You should like writers with rhythm, who are smart and enjoy playing with their words. If you do, I think you'll probably like this (or at least enough of it to make it worth reading).
4.5 stars.
Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews