Blade by Blade

by Danusha Laméris

Blade by Blade is an unflinching field journal of grief, loss, and discovery set against the California wilderness.


Danusha Laméris’s third book, Blade by Blade, is a book of Hunger for the bright glare of poppies, for the hidden name of the beloved, for the cracked continental edge, for all we keep in “the heart’s farthest chambers.” Seeking a way back to joy following the deaths of her son and brother, the poet finds wonder in the furred legs of a caterpillar, in egrets, elephants, and elk, solace in the seagull’s speckled egg. Here we taste a longing to kiss in the dark corner of the gym, to leap into a volcano’s molten fire, to be unraveled, undone thread by thread, made one with all things. Microscopic and tidal, earthquake and fire-prone, Blade by Blade thrives in the underbrush of human emotion. These poems are luminous missives tossed on the wind asking us to re-enter the world we’ve forsaken, to set foot, as if for the first time, on the green earth and begin again.

Genres: Poetry, Nature

96 pages, Paperback

Published October 22, 2024

Reviews

[Jan Priddy]

I thought I would need to admit that I didn't love this one quite so much as the others, but then I finished reading all of the poems in this book and even though they are about grief and love, all of them about grief, there is also glory here in the air and butterfly wings and the coyote and the ghostly visits with her brother, and for a treasure this from the end of "Haunts":

My son's eyes were dark as earth. We had to hold him close / at night in case he had a seizure. I would have said, then, / it was torture to love someone you couldn't save. But / what did I know? How lucky it was—how lucky / it always is—to love someone at all.

Sometimes you set reason aside and love what you love.

In my life I have read only a handful of chapbooks straight through, beginning to end. Three of them were written by Laméris. So ants and snapdragons and a praying mantis—all the little ones of our Earth live here.

[Danielle Loverro]

“I learned the world through the bottoms of my feet, bare in the creeks of summer, stepping on pebbles, the squidge of moss between my toes.” Makes me think of when lydia and I would train the soles of our feet to be tough. In between being wizards and falling out of trees, of course.

“The language is old, dying even as we write it down. Who will decipher our sorrow, who will know our joy. Though these, too, are old, and unlikely to alter. Why not take an old, chipped cup, fill it with water, or for that matter, the leaves of something aged, a little bruised, ripened in a cave. Why not take a sip, and sit awhile in silence, it’s weighted grace the oldest thing of all.”

[Joseph Anthony]

Having loved Bonfire Opera, I had high hopes for this volume. However, I found it, at best, colloquial and insipid. There were a couple of poems that were pretty good… but in general the content, for all her mastery, fell flat. It felt like the subject matter was there, but the delivery was not… to the point of feeling trite and pedestrian. In fact, even though I hate doing this, I’m returning this book; sitting on my shelf it will not move ever again. Bummer!

This book might be OK for someone with a low threshold or for beginners in a junior high poetry class. I can see it being instructive on some level.

But I’m a carnivore and I need meat.

That said, I also ordered The Moons of August (Winner of the 2013 Autumn House Press Poetry Prize) and am loving it.

[Christina]

I read this entire book through blurry eyes because so much of it resonated with me. the connection of life, death, and nature has been something I’ve found comfort in my grief process.

I gave it three stars just because I think some of the writing read a bit like it was meant for children, but somehow I also felt like some of it was incomprehensible. perhaps that is the problem with reading things like this when you can relate to it so heavily—when it doesn’t resonate with you it gets distracting. Idk I think it’s nicely written I’m just feeling ambivalent

[Caitlin Conlon]

This was a really tender collection of poems. Though I didn't do a lot of dog-earing of specific poems, I did do a lot of underlining. Laméris has such a lyrical style, and I felt incredibly immersed in the worlds she spun. I would definitely read another collection by her in the future.

[Sybil A]

So wonderful

[Hannah Jane]

When I read the first poem, "Barefoot," I knew this was going to be a zillion star book. I immediately bought a copy and returned my library copy. During my childhood I spent every summer barefoot, only wearing shoes when we went into town. My feet knew our holler better than my eyes or my hands did. Laméris captures this feeling, which is not something I've ever thought too much about. Not until I read Barefoot.

"I'd marvel at how I could feel / a gopher stir underground from yards away, that slight / rumble in the earth. This was foot-knowledge, heel-knowledge, / knowledge of sole and arch, that domed curve, vaulted nave, / everything that entered there, sanctified, holy."

I thought, how does it get better than this poem? But the glow of Laméris' words continues to light the way.

In "Slither," another poem so closely mirroring my childhood, she writes about lizards, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. She does this brilliant thing with the skink, writing about how she grabs one, and folks, she uses a line break to sever the tail. I am not even kidding here. She's so sneaky in her brilliance. This shines the brightest in her poem, "Alphabet of the Apocalypse," which has so many clever things going on it feels like I'm reading that Highlights magazine, noticing something different every time I read through the poem.

The entire book is a treasure, too short, brilliantly composed, each poem asking the reader to lift the rock of its words.

[andré crombie]

Meanwhile the motorcycles
churr down Pacific Avenue,
revved and ready to head north
up Highway I, past the rough
surf and golden cliffs, past
small towns held together
by roadside restaurants serving up
burgers and artichoke bisque,
the pelicans hanging low
on the late-day wind
above the corrugated line
of the horizon. It’s the season
of fire, but all I can see is water,
water running out as far
as the stitched hem of sky.
An epoch of water
lying low under the white-
capped waves.
I have wanted to live
in this paradise forever,
to dwell here on this
cracked continental edge
inhaling the fragrance
of salt and seaweed,
stepping on the loose
gravel leading down
to the shore, waters
in which I was baptized by
a wild froth of surf
that filled my eyes, my ears,
my mouth as I tumbled
shoreward. If I belong anywhere,
it’s here on this scorched
rib of field leading to the sand.

notes: some great poems, especially about the bay area and her siblings (birth and otherwise), but the collection as a whole didn’t do it for me.

[Courtney LeBlanc]

A collection of poems about love, loss, family, and survival.

from Fire Season: "If I belong anywhere, / it's here on this scorched / rib of field leading to the sand. / Walcott once said / the frame of human happiness / is time. Then frame me here, / caught in the early days / of autumn, in this teetering era, / a hint of smoke in the air."

from Blue Note: "It was hard to notice things / beginning to turn, to see the signs. The mind's erasure. / He started checking the locks, closing curtains, talking in low tones. / Sometimes the leaves start to yellow and you don't even notice. / There's a sound absence makes, even before it arrives, / a static in the ether, high and blue and held."

from The Cows of Love Creek: "I do not want to say love // is like devouring. But devouring is like love. / Just last winter we accepted the gift // of beef from this very ranch, sliced / into tender red meat, laced with salt. // I bend to pick another windfall apple, offer it / to the nearest wet tongue grazing my palm. // We cannot love the earth / without getting blood on our hands."

[Katelyn]

In her third collection of poetry, Danusha Laméris interweaves daily observations of nature with the loss and grief in her life, particularly the deaths of her son and brother. Reading this book feels like being outside and taking the time to be in awe of nature. In "Alphabet of the Apocalypse" she writes, "It was never enough: nectar from the orchard,/ nightingales singing from the highest boughs./ Narwhals decorating the northern seas./ Once, I took a child to the ocean/ for the first time. I can't forget the sound/ she made, that gasp--her mouth, an O." After finishing this book, I immediately requested her second book “Bonfire Opera” which includes one of my favorite poems, “Small Kindnesses”--look it up!

[Katherine]

The lovely, luminous Ms. Laméris has written another deeply personal, brilliantly crafted collection. I am in love with each poem, all woven in grief, love, nature, and beauty.

As a linguistics lover, my favorite would be the skillfully written poem 'Alphabet of the Apocalypse'. As I admire its artfulness, I think to myself, this must have taken a very long time to compose!

Danusha's word-weaving laminae is truly a gift I savor as I read and read anew, "...leaf by leaf, blade by beckoning blade..."

[Amy]

Danusha Lameris is a gifted poet, and this collection is possibly the best of hers that I’ve read. One of the things I love about her work is her ability to write about difficult themes like loss and grief, using language that is luminous and beautiful - I always find comfort in language, in shared connection, in universal truths - these poems are deeply felt, deeply personal, and also full of life and love and wonder.

[Kirsten]

”There’s a sound absence makes, even before it arrives, a static in the ether, high and blue and held.”

I am so glad I came across this stunning collection. I felt these poems across and within my body; Laméris channels Mary Oliver, with more of the carnal playing a role in Laméris’ version of naturalism.

After all - what else is more natural, hopeless, life-giving?

[Elissa Matthews]

I don't think there's a collection of anything, including desserts on a dessert tray, where I am going to love every single one. However, some of the poems in this collection are outstanding, rocketing this poet to the top of my faves list. She is the anti-Mary Oliver, and for me, that's a good thing.

[maddie]

this is one of the books my professor gifted me, and it was a beautiful collection start to finish. i had to underline everything because so many lines just…WOW! need to read more by danusha now.

[Emma Mayer]

These were such intriguing and grief-stricken poems.

[Lea]

I loved this collection of humanity and nature on the Northern California. I really loved it.

[Lucie]

My favourite English poet.
Danusha's poetry is captivating, thought provoking, engrossing. I love this book.

[Jessica Rutsky Privette]

A solid read with some standout, visceral poems about grief, loss, and nature.

[Abby Bowling]

great poetic exploration through grief

[Shawn Aebi]

Such a strong collection. A joy to read with surprises around every page corner. Pieces about the smells of death, the haunting shadow of a praying mantis. Raced through these in two sittings.

[Ellen]

Absolutely exquisite! Danusha Lameris is truly a gifted poet. Her work always transports me; her images, cadence, revelations delight me!

[Janet]

Beautiful. Read in one sitting. Life, love, loss, nature, beauty, pain, death, grief, hope.

[Vincent Antonio Rendoni]

"If you look, really look at a tree, you can barely stand it." I had so many thoughts about this beautiful collection, but this line from "Starsight" sums it up so well. Small moments and objects are made profound here.