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Slag
SLAG as in waste product. Slag as in misogynistic invective. Either use unites the speakers in Aimee Noel's first poetry collection. From bodies of workers broken to bodies of those attacked to bodies of water abused, Noel holds the beauty and danger of the moment in balance. Incorporating research, interviews, memories and myth, Slag weaves a world of those who persist, even thrive, though their environment, both internal and external, may not have their best interests at heart.
90 pages, Paperback
Published October 30, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
May 18, 2026
Wow. Wow wow wow. Catch me rereading this every day✋
March 27, 2026
This book is one of the best collections of poems I've ever read, and I’ve read a good number of poetry volumes. The lines never miss a beat, musical or metaphorical. Every poem counts and adds to the admiration I felt and you will likely share.
From the foundry clamor to the quiet promises that overturn the worlds in which we live, all you need to do is listen. My ears are still ringing.
As I always do, I read books of poems randomly, flipping through the pages and reading whatever comes first to hand and to eye. My immediate opening of this book brought me to "Returning to Work in Tipp City" a powerful address in the realm of coliseums stuffed with fans of world wrestling performances. Reading the poem aloud to myself, so many lines kicked me in the heart and head that I paused often and long. I love this one: "You know who's coming to the ring/ as soon as the first note hits./ It's easy to tell who the villain is." Hell, yeah. And I love this one: "You can't just crush a man's skull with a boot anymore." That is some liquid-nitrogen chill. And I love this one, too: "And the promoters already know who's going to win." Now, we're talking absolute zero K. Damn. Just damn. Well done.
I always list five poems that I most enjoyed, so here goes: “The Child and the Quicksilver” (Elemental and excellent, my dear Watson!), “How to Get to the Town Park All By Yourself,” “Danger Signs” (one of my favorite favorites), “Chasing the Moon” (another favorite favorite), “Bless the Water” (this one, too), “Slag” (I stand in awe and wonder)—and that’s six, and that’s just the first section.
Here are some excellences from section II: “Earth Day,” “Mill Days,” “After Swing Shift” “Rosie No More,” “Butcher, Baker, Uranium Maker” (there’s some of that music I’m talkin’ ‘bout), “Subpono,” “Delayed Internment.”
And, yes, the hits just keep on comin,’ but if I list them all, I might as well reprint the table of contents.
As I always do as well, I offer here some of my favorite lines:
From “Attendance”: “And when Gabe needs a pencil or gum or homework,/ the girls give on demand./ We have taught them/ to come prepared. They open their flower/ pouches and give up the goods.” Yeah, with a title like Slag, the book confronts both patriarchal and environmental devastation in this shaky little economic detente we call a civilization, and this poem is one of the best indictments of male privilege in that book. If you haven’t heard of “male privilege,” you’re soaking in it.
From “Urban Spring”: “Graffiti blooms like latent violence, revealing the city’s leanings/ toward hierarchy instead of living.”
In “Bucha, Ukraine,” Aimee refers to the Ukrainian woman distributing sunflower seeds (who also inspired a poem from me). Here are a set of lines from Aimee's haunting poem: “Let’s be grateful for the sound of tanks/ that shield us from the sound of what is crushed under them” and “So let’s start instead with sunflower seeds/ and the grandma who orders a Russian soldier to pocket them so that his corpse will bloom/ brightly near her grandson’s body.” If those lines don’t kick the breath from your chest, you are too dull for me.
Grief for the murder of the planet in “Inverted Water”: “Now, states away from the lake/ which spent decades heaving its dead at my feet,/ I choose to believe the world can magically/ right itself.” I will adopt that belief since we all need to push. Deep breath, now put your back into it.
From “Mill Days”: “The stink of burning slag coats a city,/ blows across every bridge until there’s nothing/ left to do but shoot a president,/ name a street where women// fly white curtains, scrub/ wash tubs of orange dust.”
These are poems that never lose their place and illuminate a place near you, even as the lines are defining yours. In these interesting times, this is one book you need to read.
From the foundry clamor to the quiet promises that overturn the worlds in which we live, all you need to do is listen. My ears are still ringing.
As I always do, I read books of poems randomly, flipping through the pages and reading whatever comes first to hand and to eye. My immediate opening of this book brought me to "Returning to Work in Tipp City" a powerful address in the realm of coliseums stuffed with fans of world wrestling performances. Reading the poem aloud to myself, so many lines kicked me in the heart and head that I paused often and long. I love this one: "You know who's coming to the ring/ as soon as the first note hits./ It's easy to tell who the villain is." Hell, yeah. And I love this one: "You can't just crush a man's skull with a boot anymore." That is some liquid-nitrogen chill. And I love this one, too: "And the promoters already know who's going to win." Now, we're talking absolute zero K. Damn. Just damn. Well done.
I always list five poems that I most enjoyed, so here goes: “The Child and the Quicksilver” (Elemental and excellent, my dear Watson!), “How to Get to the Town Park All By Yourself,” “Danger Signs” (one of my favorite favorites), “Chasing the Moon” (another favorite favorite), “Bless the Water” (this one, too), “Slag” (I stand in awe and wonder)—and that’s six, and that’s just the first section.
Here are some excellences from section II: “Earth Day,” “Mill Days,” “After Swing Shift” “Rosie No More,” “Butcher, Baker, Uranium Maker” (there’s some of that music I’m talkin’ ‘bout), “Subpono,” “Delayed Internment.”
And, yes, the hits just keep on comin,’ but if I list them all, I might as well reprint the table of contents.
As I always do as well, I offer here some of my favorite lines:
From “Attendance”: “And when Gabe needs a pencil or gum or homework,/ the girls give on demand./ We have taught them/ to come prepared. They open their flower/ pouches and give up the goods.” Yeah, with a title like Slag, the book confronts both patriarchal and environmental devastation in this shaky little economic detente we call a civilization, and this poem is one of the best indictments of male privilege in that book. If you haven’t heard of “male privilege,” you’re soaking in it.
From “Urban Spring”: “Graffiti blooms like latent violence, revealing the city’s leanings/ toward hierarchy instead of living.”
In “Bucha, Ukraine,” Aimee refers to the Ukrainian woman distributing sunflower seeds (who also inspired a poem from me). Here are a set of lines from Aimee's haunting poem: “Let’s be grateful for the sound of tanks/ that shield us from the sound of what is crushed under them” and “So let’s start instead with sunflower seeds/ and the grandma who orders a Russian soldier to pocket them so that his corpse will bloom/ brightly near her grandson’s body.” If those lines don’t kick the breath from your chest, you are too dull for me.
Grief for the murder of the planet in “Inverted Water”: “Now, states away from the lake/ which spent decades heaving its dead at my feet,/ I choose to believe the world can magically/ right itself.” I will adopt that belief since we all need to push. Deep breath, now put your back into it.
From “Mill Days”: “The stink of burning slag coats a city,/ blows across every bridge until there’s nothing/ left to do but shoot a president,/ name a street where women// fly white curtains, scrub/ wash tubs of orange dust.”
These are poems that never lose their place and illuminate a place near you, even as the lines are defining yours. In these interesting times, this is one book you need to read.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews