A NATIONAL POETRY SERIES WINNER SELECTED AND WITH A FOREWORD BY BRENDA HILLMAN
A collection of poems that explores rural Missouri, violence, queer desire / intimacy, addiction, familial and wildlife relationships
Through encounters with the everyday beauty and brutality so much a part of rural and urban Missouri, Our Hands Hold Violence explores what it means to experience and/or perpetuate small and significant acts of violence, toward others and the self.
What does it mean to hunt (be hunted), haunt (be haunted), and other (be othered)? Abiding by a chronological arc told in four movements (HERE, THERE, TOGETHER, ALONE), OHHV follows the speaker(s) as they come up in the Show Me State and come to terms with queerness, mental disability, addiction, and loneliness in the largely Christian, conservative, and hyper-masculine landscape. Other themes / aspects of note include familial dynamics, estrangement, labor, neglected and decaying natures, waste, and the confluence of wildlife and mankind.
Comprised of traditional forms and modes such as the abecedarian, ekphrasis, sestina, and more hybrid configurations (billboards, bullet points, McDonald’s Monopoly stickers), as well as photographs, OHHV is interested, too, in changing/challenging structure and expectations. Thus, enacting a visual and figurative “violence” upon the page. Additionally, two poems are contained in a nonce (invented) form called “Shakes,” where strophes traverse between left and right points, while the middle column is constructed or cataloged by similar sounds—a form inspired by the author’s own reality of stimming (i.e. pacing) and echolalia.
OHHV indulges in alliteration, assonance, repetition, and a colloquial registry of language. The voice(s) in the poems can range from anxious, reflective (nostalgic), sensual, and tender, but all are compelled by and circle the manuscript’s themes, which become obsessions. Hauntings. Ultimately, OHHV is a collection troubled by the desire to belong to/in a place and to beloveds that have “been home” while, in ways, “feeling like an outsider” at home and within one’s local community.
Searing and tender (but not like a steak, this isn’t a food review), these poems reminded me of an emotive, expressive self long dormant within me: a closeted teenager who was frightened of queerness. Walquist turns masculine-coded aspects of ruggedness and American identity into a radical honesty around contradiction and acceptance. What am I being told to love? Who is this really for? This book looks at midwestern and small-town Americana and rejects the violence of “make it make sense.” There’s no sense, only persistence.
Cred că n-am citit acest titlu la momentul potrivit. Sunt convinsă că aș fi avut o altă părere dacă nimeream și perioada potrivită. M-a atras coperta. Mă ducea cu gândul la o anumită gamă de teme, așa că am zis să descopăr despre ce e. A livrat ce speram, însă n-am avut parte de experiența așteptată. În vreme ce mi-au plăcut foarte mult câteva poezii și câteva versuri, cu majoritatea n-am prea rezonat. Nu m-am înțeles nici cu modul în care au fost scrise unele dintre ele. Oricum ar fi, mă bucur că am ajuns la cărticică. Mi-ar fi stat gândul la ea în caz contrar.
staff rec blurb, nov 25: To hunt and to be hunted. To haunt and to be haunted. This quiet, contemplative work by Kieron Walquist asks readers to consider how rural space, culture, and politic impact the queer body. Focusing on the ever-looming violence, addiction, and desires found in our familiar American landscapes, Walquist breaks heavy topics wide open, yet their stunning language leaves you feeling punched in the gut.
A good read. Some material is difficult to digest, and otherwise dark. The author built a language rich tapestry on every page that provoked contemplation and reflection from the reader.