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Rapture: Poems
Because I can never say anything
plainly. Because I always stutter
politely. Because there's always the chatter
before the kiss.
--from "In Need of Subtitles"
In this award-winning debut, Sjohnna McCray movingly recounts a life born out of wartime to a Korean mother and an American father serving during the Vietnam War. Their troubled histories, and McCray's own, are told with lyric passion and the mythic undercurrents of discovering one's own identity, one's own desires. What emerges is a self- and family portrait of grief and celebration, one that insists on our lives as anything, please, but singular. Rapture is an extraordinary first collection, with poems of rare grace and feeling.
plainly. Because I always stutter
politely. Because there's always the chatter
before the kiss.
--from "In Need of Subtitles"
In this award-winning debut, Sjohnna McCray movingly recounts a life born out of wartime to a Korean mother and an American father serving during the Vietnam War. Their troubled histories, and McCray's own, are told with lyric passion and the mythic undercurrents of discovering one's own identity, one's own desires. What emerges is a self- and family portrait of grief and celebration, one that insists on our lives as anything, please, but singular. Rapture is an extraordinary first collection, with poems of rare grace and feeling.
72 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2016
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
June 29, 2016
Sjohnna McCray's debut shatters a thousand silences, from the unlikely marriage of his war-wounded father and sex-worker mother to his own coming out. The poems are refreshingly candid ("This is something my mother knew: to fuck/ a man without a metaphor") and eclectic (there are poems inspired by Superman, arthouse cinema, ballet, myth...even by television's most famous painting instructor, Bob Ross). As with many first collections, there is much to love and much to return to, and I truly look forward to more from this formidable and fascinating new voice.
July 25, 2016
Amazing
No words...so beautiful. The imagery was stunning and the emotional center incredible. So amazing on so many levels. Must read.
No words...so beautiful. The imagery was stunning and the emotional center incredible. So amazing on so many levels. Must read.
April 6, 2016
This collection is very meaningful to me. So many books of poetry sit too heavily on one topic, so that they offer only a small view of humanity. In this book we got a much more rounded view--poet as son, poet as lover, poet as vulnerable historian. Reading this book made me feel free to be a person in the world.
Some of my favorite lines:
You match the constellations
Each to a different longing.
An extravagance is small pauses,
Many caesuras.
I think grief must be circular.
Rage is a promise kept.
Some of my favorite lines:
You match the constellations
Each to a different longing.
An extravagance is small pauses,
Many caesuras.
I think grief must be circular.
Rage is a promise kept.
July 9, 2016
McCray’s themes in this first poetry collection are desire, identity and memory. He excavates his past and dredges up images and motifs that form a personal mythology. Many of the poems seem autobiographical.
There is a particular focus on the imperfections of the human body: the stump of a father’s amputated leg; “flabby buttocks” and “the bike-tire cap of her nipples” in ‘Peeping Toms’; a Korean comfort woman “reducing men to texture:/the prickly hairs, the moles and bumps,/the scarred trenches along the shoulders.”
In line with this focus on the physical, the collection charts a growth from boyhood to maturity. We see snapshots of the narrator’s relationships first with his parents and then his lovers. There is nothing idealized here, and a hint of adolescent pain and confusion underpins the tone. ‘Night Sweats’ begins, “You sleep as I imagine/a superhero flies:one arm straight/and one leg cocked” and ends, “Your name/should have been Clark.” The lover isn’t Superman, but Superman’s fragile alter-ego.
McCray won the Walt Whitman Award of the Academy of American Poets for this collection and it’s easy to see why. He doesn’t eschew complexity but his syntax is strikingly clear and there are images which lodge in the reader’s mind and won’t depart. There is also a ringing musicality to these poems – they resonate in the ear. Overall, I thought this a great debut and a welcome addition to the stellar group of African American poets making their way in the world.
There is a particular focus on the imperfections of the human body: the stump of a father’s amputated leg; “flabby buttocks” and “the bike-tire cap of her nipples” in ‘Peeping Toms’; a Korean comfort woman “reducing men to texture:/the prickly hairs, the moles and bumps,/the scarred trenches along the shoulders.”
In line with this focus on the physical, the collection charts a growth from boyhood to maturity. We see snapshots of the narrator’s relationships first with his parents and then his lovers. There is nothing idealized here, and a hint of adolescent pain and confusion underpins the tone. ‘Night Sweats’ begins, “You sleep as I imagine/a superhero flies:one arm straight/and one leg cocked” and ends, “Your name/should have been Clark.” The lover isn’t Superman, but Superman’s fragile alter-ego.
McCray won the Walt Whitman Award of the Academy of American Poets for this collection and it’s easy to see why. He doesn’t eschew complexity but his syntax is strikingly clear and there are images which lodge in the reader’s mind and won’t depart. There is also a ringing musicality to these poems – they resonate in the ear. Overall, I thought this a great debut and a welcome addition to the stellar group of African American poets making their way in the world.
February 22, 2017
Rapture: Poems is a set of poems that contains such beautiful phrases. The way McCray features people in his poetry is a unique style of writing. Many of the poems are centralized around nature and they are remarkably descriptive. McCray does not shy away from writing the world around us with a new perspective that leaves the reader wanting more. An example of his prowess is seen well in “Winter Anesthesia.”
“It’s something like the ache of a missing leg
The twitch of an invisible limb.
Like winter in the hills
When the sleet and snow are so heavy
Outside there’s only white on white.
Something happens, no ears.”
Review by Dennise Garcia
“It’s something like the ache of a missing leg
The twitch of an invisible limb.
Like winter in the hills
When the sleet and snow are so heavy
Outside there’s only white on white.
Something happens, no ears.”
Review by Dennise Garcia
February 5, 2018
This is a wonderful book of poetry. The poems are gorgeous with imagery and stories, so close and so personal. The language choices are beautiful as well, in terms of both meaning and sound.
October 21, 2019
5/5
i feel like haunting is a pretty cliched way to describe poetry, but holy shit, these poems are haunting. i loved so many poems in here. “only” chose to quote three, but some other favorites include “How to Move,” “Winter Anesthesia,” “Comfort Woman,” “Neckbone,” “Yellow Apples,” “On the Cutting Room Floor,” “Glorious Hole,” “Next to Him,” “The Widower,” “Next to Him,” “The Green Bowls,” & “The Messenger.”
some quotes:
"His face is as faraway as the light
of a farmhouse across dark fields.
The man across from me on the bus
smells. Seven hours or more,
the ride's been all bad weather,
moonless and sober.
His dark skin, titian, hardens to umbra
about the knuckles and the eyes.
He leans toward the window. I think
grief must be circular, the way a man
can hit his head on the silver handle,
awaken, turn, and nod off again.
—His Face Is as Far Away as the Light
"When I wake, this is what I tell myself:
I belong to this, to all the ghosts present
in the DNA. Diabates,
an ancient Greek consort, sweeps through the halls
of my body. It seems the proper gift
from my father, memory locked down in the cells
of my bladder. Frequent urination
is a hard nag to beat. My body
is my father's complaint. He rings at two
in the morning. A piss in the pot, a shot
in the dark. He's never too far away.
—Type 2
(gonna ruin the structure of this poem but it's still beautiful)
"I tuck the sheet under both arms, tidying after lust. I hear an arch of urine fizzling in the bowl. Is this what father meant when he stood and explained, Be careful?Before leaving, he made toast and eggs over easy. A meal to coat the stomach. Did he know about the men taking laps around the bar until finding a spot to eye a boy, pare him down, undo his clothes, molecule by molecule, as if wearing X-ray specs, found only in the backs of comic books? He must've known about the grope and the rub down, the mashed mouths, the need to join, the legs pinned like insect wings to a headboard. He must have known the odds of failure, the odds of being twenty-one. How darkness is more of a presence than desire, how the absence of a lover is tedious. How the flush of a toilet serves as a warning: more emptiness to come."
—Twenty-One
i feel like haunting is a pretty cliched way to describe poetry, but holy shit, these poems are haunting. i loved so many poems in here. “only” chose to quote three, but some other favorites include “How to Move,” “Winter Anesthesia,” “Comfort Woman,” “Neckbone,” “Yellow Apples,” “On the Cutting Room Floor,” “Glorious Hole,” “Next to Him,” “The Widower,” “Next to Him,” “The Green Bowls,” & “The Messenger.”
some quotes:
"His face is as faraway as the light
of a farmhouse across dark fields.
The man across from me on the bus
smells. Seven hours or more,
the ride's been all bad weather,
moonless and sober.
His dark skin, titian, hardens to umbra
about the knuckles and the eyes.
He leans toward the window. I think
grief must be circular, the way a man
can hit his head on the silver handle,
awaken, turn, and nod off again.
—His Face Is as Far Away as the Light
"When I wake, this is what I tell myself:
I belong to this, to all the ghosts present
in the DNA. Diabates,
an ancient Greek consort, sweeps through the halls
of my body. It seems the proper gift
from my father, memory locked down in the cells
of my bladder. Frequent urination
is a hard nag to beat. My body
is my father's complaint. He rings at two
in the morning. A piss in the pot, a shot
in the dark. He's never too far away.
—Type 2
(gonna ruin the structure of this poem but it's still beautiful)
"I tuck the sheet under both arms, tidying after lust. I hear an arch of urine fizzling in the bowl. Is this what father meant when he stood and explained, Be careful?Before leaving, he made toast and eggs over easy. A meal to coat the stomach. Did he know about the men taking laps around the bar until finding a spot to eye a boy, pare him down, undo his clothes, molecule by molecule, as if wearing X-ray specs, found only in the backs of comic books? He must've known about the grope and the rub down, the mashed mouths, the need to join, the legs pinned like insect wings to a headboard. He must have known the odds of failure, the odds of being twenty-one. How darkness is more of a presence than desire, how the absence of a lover is tedious. How the flush of a toilet serves as a warning: more emptiness to come."
—Twenty-One
August 10, 2026
McCray combines blunt language and a light touch to address serious subjects such as the complexities of family (his Korean mother and soldier father met during the Vietnam War) and queer love. This collection earned the Walt Whitman Award for first-book publication from the Academy of American Poets. This was McCray's only published collection; he was undergoing dialysis at the time and lived another 8 years, passing away in 2023. For aspiring poets, this is a useful read that illustrates how writers grapple with aspects of their personal history.
December 20, 2018
I don't know if this is a thing but most of the poems I found in McCray's debut were Big Box poems. I mean, poems around a title that have as many disparate items and images thrown in to keep me (dear reader) pawing through and wondering, what's this? and, why is this in here? I liked his poems about his father the most.
January 5, 2023
A solid poetry collection by an immensely talented writer. "Twenty-One" was probably my absolute favorite in the collection and really spoke to me. McCary gives us a window into his life featuring poetry about love, lust, family, and friendship. It was also a quick read as I read it in about 45 mins. When I say that he is a fantastic writer, I say it with my whole chest.
August 18, 2023
In this debut collection, the poet explores his Korean-American identity, his parents’ troubled histories, and a life lived with “an extravagance of small pauses/ many caesuras.” Puzzling titles.
Favorite Poems:
“Bedtime Story #1”
“Comfort Woman”
“Neckbone”
“Burning Down Suburbia”
“The Widower”
“Type 2”
Favorite Poems:
“Bedtime Story #1”
“Comfort Woman”
“Neckbone”
“Burning Down Suburbia”
“The Widower”
“Type 2”
October 3, 2017
3.5 stars
This was a really beautiful collection of poems. It felt like they became progressively more intimate as the book went on. He is particularly adept at conjuring atmosphere without being verbose.
This was a really beautiful collection of poems. It felt like they became progressively more intimate as the book went on. He is particularly adept at conjuring atmosphere without being verbose.
April 19, 2018
Excellent poet. Hard topics.
October 27, 2020
“But maybe grace / has nothing to do with it; maybe / it’s desire that pulls our limbs.”
August 22, 2021
Sjohnna McCray is telling the hard truths about toxic masculinity, racism, colonialism, deep and loving relationships, and parentage. It’s confronting and joyful.
Read
July 12, 2024Pretty good poetry here. I'm sorry the poor man has since died.
January 25, 2024
It's an interesting read...I dont really know how to feel about it. I'm still figuring out if I like poetry at all at this point, so I'm completely unsure. It's good compared to some of the other poetry I've read? I do not know, I picked it up on a whim at the library and I'm not sure I'm the audience for this.
April 19, 2016
3.5 stars.
I feel oddly detached from this volume of poetry. For the first (roughly) third of the book, I was reading each poem and wondering aloud how this collection had won an award. By the middle of the book, I was hooked - finding several poems that I felt were excellent (The Nuclear Family and Price Check being my two stand-out favorites). The last third, though, left me back in unimpressed territory.
At no point did I think "This is bad poetry." Not at all. It is interesting, challenging stuff. But somehow I found myself wanting more throughout much of the book. I also personally feel that it misses a clear narrative path. With all of the verse being narrative and (I assume) personal, it also seemed oddly detached from its "self" for lack of better terminology and had no arc to speak of.
I'm not sure how I feel exactly. I think it is probably worth a second read for me at some point in time.
Out of curiosity, why do so many books of poetry come out with "Rapture" as the title? I know that it is a heavy, loaded word... But at this point, you would think that publishers would curtail it and tell their poets that they need a different title. (My favorite book of poetry with the title remains Susan Mitchell's Rapture...)
I feel oddly detached from this volume of poetry. For the first (roughly) third of the book, I was reading each poem and wondering aloud how this collection had won an award. By the middle of the book, I was hooked - finding several poems that I felt were excellent (The Nuclear Family and Price Check being my two stand-out favorites). The last third, though, left me back in unimpressed territory.
At no point did I think "This is bad poetry." Not at all. It is interesting, challenging stuff. But somehow I found myself wanting more throughout much of the book. I also personally feel that it misses a clear narrative path. With all of the verse being narrative and (I assume) personal, it also seemed oddly detached from its "self" for lack of better terminology and had no arc to speak of.
I'm not sure how I feel exactly. I think it is probably worth a second read for me at some point in time.
Out of curiosity, why do so many books of poetry come out with "Rapture" as the title? I know that it is a heavy, loaded word... But at this point, you would think that publishers would curtail it and tell their poets that they need a different title. (My favorite book of poetry with the title remains Susan Mitchell's Rapture...)
May 7, 2023
A collection of poems about identity, childhood, family, grief, and grace.
from How to Move: "when my brother takes the brown / almost black debris of father's life / into small hands that marvel // at catching spiders in jars, he is not afraid. / When we discover death, shaking / in the gravel driveway, he knows it"
from Cinéma Vérité: "He steadies his friend, / cradles the dead from hanging, places his mouth over the listless mouth / and breathes sour air into the lungs. It's the slowest kiss that was never / a kiss that I've ever seen. Mom's fingers brush over her lips, she blushes / a necklace of welts. Pink flares along her cleavage and we both want / this: to be kissed like that, to be jolted out and coaxed back. To stop and / live again."
from Puberty in a Jar: "In summer, we waste days / thinking of our hands / and what we can snag / in jars."
from How to Move: "when my brother takes the brown / almost black debris of father's life / into small hands that marvel // at catching spiders in jars, he is not afraid. / When we discover death, shaking / in the gravel driveway, he knows it"
from Cinéma Vérité: "He steadies his friend, / cradles the dead from hanging, places his mouth over the listless mouth / and breathes sour air into the lungs. It's the slowest kiss that was never / a kiss that I've ever seen. Mom's fingers brush over her lips, she blushes / a necklace of welts. Pink flares along her cleavage and we both want / this: to be kissed like that, to be jolted out and coaxed back. To stop and / live again."
from Puberty in a Jar: "In summer, we waste days / thinking of our hands / and what we can snag / in jars."
May 1, 2016
An interesting small collection, very carefully wrought. I didn't feel very close to the speaker but these fell very much like experiential poems that you have to have a shared experience to really get into the emotion. The exception is "Rapture", the last poem in the book which is a seven-part development of the narrator's sexuality/partnership. Very raw and lovely
May 1, 2018
Rapture put me in a sort of trance and I had to put the book down after every few poems because they’re so powerful. Sjohnna McCray writes about family and fatherhood and home, and, man, did this collection leave me breathless.
From 18 Powerful Poetry Books Like Milk & Honey by Rupi Kaur at Book Riot.
From 18 Powerful Poetry Books Like Milk & Honey by Rupi Kaur at Book Riot.
May 4, 2016
I really liked "Smoke & Mirrors" and "Puberty in a Jar".
Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews