'In the morning I drink / coffee until I can see / a way to love life / again. It's okay, there's / no difference between flying and thinking / you're flying until / you land. Somehow / I own like six nail clippers / and I honestly can't / remember ever buying / even one.'
Instantly quotable and unique, PAPER CROWN combines the play and humour of Heather's earliest work with the emotional and autobiographical turn of THE CRYING BOOK. In poems such as 'Suggested Donation,' 'Mistake,' and 'Perfect Song,' as well as previously unpublished work, Christle explores familial relationships, the nature of memory, and the outer edges of imagination. Poems from PAPER CROWN have appeared in The Best American Poetry, Granta, The Nation, The New Yorker, and The White Review. With tenderness and verve, honesty and curiosity, PAPER CROWN continues Christle's lifelong pursuit of understanding the ways that we can move words, and how words in turn can move us.
Heather Christle is the author of The Crying Book (Catapult), a NYT Editor’s Choice, Indie Next Selection, and national bestseller that was translated into eight languages, awarded the Georgia Book Award for memoir, and adapted for radio by the BBC. An Associate Professor of English and Creative Writing at Emory University in Atlanta, Christle is also the author of four poetry collections including The Trees The Trees (Octopus Books), which won the Believer Book Award and was adapted into a ballet by the Pacific Northwest Ballet. In 2021 she was the recipient of a George A. and Eliza Gardner Howard Foundation Fellowship in nonfiction. Born in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire to a Merchant Mariner from North Dakota and an artist from London, Christle spent her teen years and early twenties immersed in the Boston punk scene. She attended Tufts University, graduating in 2004. After receiving her MFA from UMass Amherst in 2009, she was a Creative Writing Fellow at Emory University from 2009-11, and has also taught at UT Austin and Sarah Lawrence College. She lives in Decatur, Georgia, with her partner (poet and writer Christopher DeWeese), their child, and two cats.
I LOVE these poems. And when I heard her read some a few weeks ago something unlocked within me. I understand poetry now. And that I will never understand it.
"The deer are awake./ Is one pregnant?/ If they kept diaries/ the first entry would/ read: Was born/ Was licked/ Tried walking" (1)
"If the glowing door/ were to appear I'd/ tell you all about it./ I would miss my life" (5)
"Rooms invaded the world/ centuries before me./ A few inches over/ a small doom took form" (24)
"I have several imaginary problems/ to which I turn in times of great need./ The penny where my heart should be...It can get lonely out here/ in the cloud/How much/ would it take to get you to look up/ and say--I don't know-- my name?" (29)
"how the pain is immense and replaced/ with a stubborn understanding/ that one cannot go backwards,/ though one ought to go backwards,/ and that is how a brain/ begins to terrorize itself" (47)
"I breathed in for 12 seconds and out for 8/ and meanwhile I reached an infinitely/ small moment I was exactly twice/ as old as you or vice versa but now/ we are drifting farther apart then ever before/ and that is sad but not without value/ like an amateur crime reenactment/ in which all but the victim is wrong" (48)
"Is a name meant to fit over or inside or/ next to? I find when I do wear my name/ it boings from my head on some kind/ of antenna and our movements/ are related but do not match./ The sun has burned into my back/the shape of a window and now/ I can see through it to the sky" (56)
"Is it sad that a robin/--in order to be born--/ must break that pretty/ egg? Don't answer that!/ An unanswered question/ remains whole" (63)
"Thought *I am still a bell waiting to be a rung*/ Thought *I would be happy to be rung*" (66)
I remember walking through the morning after a night of heavy snow and drink with headphones on and they played me the most perfect song: no one was awake and I was hungover young as clean as a piano I thought and at any moment someone might fall in love with me I was that woven into the electric cold bright air and for weeks after I went through the album in search of the song but could not find it and later much later I saw that what I had taken to be the song was in fact the joyous concordance of a moment that would not come again.
accessible poetry about everyday things.
Excerpts:
In the morning I drink coffee until I can see a way to love life again. It’s okay, there’s no difference between flying and thinking you’re flying until you land.
I raise my head and am astonished by the window’s absolute and complicated green, the opposite of the wrong suitcase’s impassive empty space. These are my hands with nothing in them.
The birds are multiplying. No one in front now, no one needed. They’ve stitched themselves into a wave
Every leaf has been pulled into sight. If I look up I will have to take them in. There is no order. They each have a name.
Someone says No one cares a whit for me and someone else says I care a whit for you and someone else still says ‘Whit’ is a variation on ‘wight’ meaning ‘thing’ or ‘person’ and the second person’s reassurance collapses into itself — I care a person for a person — the way the solar system eventually will, some bright and then dark day.
Heather Christle's first poetry collection in a decade and it *might* be my favorite one yet. "The Tooth" is an all-timer for me, a poem I return to often, and I was thrilled to finally see it in print. I was also fortunate enough to hear Christle read from this book earlier this summer in Chicago, where she encouraged people at the venue to come closer to the stage, sit on the floor, and if they showed her proof of having ordered her book, she'd tell them her favorite joke. 10/10, no notes.
I fear poems this abstract tend to be hit or miss for me. “My Love You Died in my Dream Last Night,” “Some Ideas on the Novel” and “Mistake” are some of my favorite poems I’ve ever read though.