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Portrait of the Alcoholic
Goodreads Choice Award
Nominee for Readers' Favorite Poetry (2017)"Was it Jung who speculated that alcoholism might be an attempt at a material solution for a spiritual problem? Kaveh Akbar seems able to contain both--he's a demotic, as well as a spiritual, poet (the only type of either I trust). Each word in this little book might rise up from somewhere deep in the earth, but they turn into stars." - Nick Flynn
"In Islam prayer is not transactional, poetry is not divorced from the quotidian and portraiture is embraced only in the abstract. And yet here in Kaveh Akbar's book, entreaty is earnest, aimed at the human and particular more often than the divine but at the same time the language and form elevate themselves to the fevered register of desperation. Yes, sure, fine, you would think that a Muslim writing about being a drunk would have to adopt unconventional approaches, but drunkenness in the Islamic literary tradition is a long and time-honored metaphor. For what? Abandonment to God, a cessation of the self--but not so here; no. Here it's real, it's coarse, it's dangerous. The reason we Muslims do not pray for things is that it is similarly dangerous for one to call God's attention onto oneself. But for Kaveh Akbar, whose very name means 'poetry, ' it is a risk every poem takes with gusto. And speaking purely for myself, these poems give me life because 'for so long every step I've taken/ has been from one tongue to another.' Be careful, little brother. God's got His eye on you now." - Kazim Ali
"In Islam prayer is not transactional, poetry is not divorced from the quotidian and portraiture is embraced only in the abstract. And yet here in Kaveh Akbar's book, entreaty is earnest, aimed at the human and particular more often than the divine but at the same time the language and form elevate themselves to the fevered register of desperation. Yes, sure, fine, you would think that a Muslim writing about being a drunk would have to adopt unconventional approaches, but drunkenness in the Islamic literary tradition is a long and time-honored metaphor. For what? Abandonment to God, a cessation of the self--but not so here; no. Here it's real, it's coarse, it's dangerous. The reason we Muslims do not pray for things is that it is similarly dangerous for one to call God's attention onto oneself. But for Kaveh Akbar, whose very name means 'poetry, ' it is a risk every poem takes with gusto. And speaking purely for myself, these poems give me life because 'for so long every step I've taken/ has been from one tongue to another.' Be careful, little brother. God's got His eye on you now." - Kazim Ali
45 pages, Paperback
First published January 26, 2017
24 people are currently reading
5622 people want to read
About the author
Kaveh Akbar
28 books3,055 followersKaveh Akbar's poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, Tin House, PBS NewsHour, A Public Space, Guernica, Boston Review, and elsewhere. He is a recipient of a 2016 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation and the Lucille Medwick Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America. He is also the founder and editor of Divedapper, a home for dialogues with vital voices in contemporary poetry.
His first full-length collection, Calling a Wolf a Wolf, was published in 2017.
Kaveh was born in Tehran, Iran and currently lives in Iowa. He was a visiting professor at Purdue University in Indiana in Fall 2017.
His first full-length collection, Calling a Wolf a Wolf, was published in 2017.
Kaveh was born in Tehran, Iran and currently lives in Iowa. He was a visiting professor at Purdue University in Indiana in Fall 2017.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 123 reviews
February 11, 2025
“envy is the only deadly sin that's no fun for the sinner”
Portrait of the Alcoholic ~~~ Kaveh Akbar
I love Kaveh Akbar. He helped to reawaken my long dormant love of poetry in 2017. He is a brilliant writer.
Kaveh Akbar is also one of the first “superstar” poets the world has known since Maya Angelou. He seems to be everywhere these days. Maggie Gyllenhaal has even hired Akbar to write poems for upcoming film, The Kindergarten Teacher.
Akbar is an extremely honest writer; he dedicates Portrait of the Alcoholic to drunks. I know, I’m gushing, but this guy is amazing.
Kaveh Akbar writes of love, sexual awakening, God, spirituality, desire, addiction, and the sacred like no writer I have read before. It is as if he is putting my thoughts and feelings into words and sharing them back with me. Every poem of his affects me deeply and reading some of them is like taking a punch to the gut. He understands forgiveness and atonement in a way that only an addict or drunk could. I could ramble for pages about his greatness as a poet, but let me show you instead.
PORTRAIT OF THE ALCOHOLIC THREE WEEKS SOBER
The first thing I ever saw die—a lamb that took ten
long minutes. Instead of rolling into the grass, her blood
pooled on the porch. My uncle stepped away
from the puddle, called it a good omen for the tomatoes
then lit a tiny black cigar. Years later I am still picking romas
out of my salads. The barbarism of eating anything
seems almost unbearable. With drinking however
I’ve always been prodigious. A garden bucket filled with cream
would disappear, and seconds later I’d emerge
patting my belly. I swear, I could conjure rainclouds
from piles of ash, guzzle down whole human bodies,
the faces like goblets I’d drain then put back in the cupboard.
So trust me now: when I say thirst, I mean defeated,
abandoned-in-faith, lonely-as-the-slow-charge-into-a-bayonet
thirst. Imagine being the sand forced to watch silt dance
in the Nile. Imagine being the oil boiling away an entire person.
Today, I’m finding problems in areas where I didn’t have areas before.
I’m grateful to be trusted with any of it: the bluebrown ocean
undrinkable as a glass of scorpions, the omnipresent fragrant
honey and the bees that guard it. It just seems such a severe sort of
miraculousness. Even the terminal dryness of bone hides inside our skin
plainly, like dust on a mirror. This can guide us forward
or not guide us at all. Maybe it’s that forward seems too chronological,
the way the future-perfect always sounds so cavalier
when someone tells me some day this will all have been worth it.
Portrait of the Alcoholic ~~~ Kaveh Akbar
I love Kaveh Akbar. He helped to reawaken my long dormant love of poetry in 2017. He is a brilliant writer.
Kaveh Akbar is also one of the first “superstar” poets the world has known since Maya Angelou. He seems to be everywhere these days. Maggie Gyllenhaal has even hired Akbar to write poems for upcoming film, The Kindergarten Teacher.
Akbar is an extremely honest writer; he dedicates Portrait of the Alcoholic to drunks. I know, I’m gushing, but this guy is amazing.
Kaveh Akbar writes of love, sexual awakening, God, spirituality, desire, addiction, and the sacred like no writer I have read before. It is as if he is putting my thoughts and feelings into words and sharing them back with me. Every poem of his affects me deeply and reading some of them is like taking a punch to the gut. He understands forgiveness and atonement in a way that only an addict or drunk could. I could ramble for pages about his greatness as a poet, but let me show you instead.
PORTRAIT OF THE ALCOHOLIC THREE WEEKS SOBER
The first thing I ever saw die—a lamb that took ten
long minutes. Instead of rolling into the grass, her blood
pooled on the porch. My uncle stepped away
from the puddle, called it a good omen for the tomatoes
then lit a tiny black cigar. Years later I am still picking romas
out of my salads. The barbarism of eating anything
seems almost unbearable. With drinking however
I’ve always been prodigious. A garden bucket filled with cream
would disappear, and seconds later I’d emerge
patting my belly. I swear, I could conjure rainclouds
from piles of ash, guzzle down whole human bodies,
the faces like goblets I’d drain then put back in the cupboard.
So trust me now: when I say thirst, I mean defeated,
abandoned-in-faith, lonely-as-the-slow-charge-into-a-bayonet
thirst. Imagine being the sand forced to watch silt dance
in the Nile. Imagine being the oil boiling away an entire person.
Today, I’m finding problems in areas where I didn’t have areas before.
I’m grateful to be trusted with any of it: the bluebrown ocean
undrinkable as a glass of scorpions, the omnipresent fragrant
honey and the bees that guard it. It just seems such a severe sort of
miraculousness. Even the terminal dryness of bone hides inside our skin
plainly, like dust on a mirror. This can guide us forward
or not guide us at all. Maybe it’s that forward seems too chronological,
the way the future-perfect always sounds so cavalier
when someone tells me some day this will all have been worth it.
November 8, 2017
Akbar's struggles as a recovering alcoholic are transformed into works of art that transcend (while honoring) his individual demons. The language is powerful and the poems moving. Even if you've never experienced addiction, his poems address the hunger of life, the desire for deep experience, the difficulties of love and both the remorse and satisfactions of our choices.
Jagged and perceptive, these books carried me deep into the heart of my most personal struggles while providing a greater context for them and giving me a greater sense of meaning for myself and others.
Jagged and perceptive, these books carried me deep into the heart of my most personal struggles while providing a greater context for them and giving me a greater sense of meaning for myself and others.
February 5, 2017
When you pick up a book of poems, you want it to read the way this one does.
Read
May 16, 2017This slim collection of poetry is definitely filled with more energy than anything else I read in February. Don’t let the name mislead you. Yes, on one level Akbar’s chapbook examines the perplexities and defeats of addiction, but underneath there are more immediate inquiries about spiritual fatigue, the construct of masculinity, and finding meaning in the mundane. Given the title, perhaps it’s ironic that there are so many memorable lines and moments of bizarre clarity. It’s a new take on a timeless problem, one executed with more exuberance than ennui. I loved it. (Sibling Rivalry Press)
–Aram Mrjoian
from The Best Books We Read In February 2017: http://bookriot.com/2017/02/28/riot-r...
–Aram Mrjoian
from The Best Books We Read In February 2017: http://bookriot.com/2017/02/28/riot-r...
February 14, 2017
Such precise, stunning verse. Sings from highs and lows, gets you in your center. I'm going to be thinking about this for awhile, and look forward to his full-length collection
February 6, 2017
A simply stunning mind is on display in this brief volume that showcases Akbar's willingness to stare unflinchingly into a painful past and find the beauty within those moments. Kaveh Akbar is a hugely important voice and one that I look forward to reading for many years to come.
January 4, 2026
almost every single poem in this collection had me closing my eyes for 15 seconds to recover from the emotional blow it sent to my chest
Read
December 24, 2017I read this a few days ago, just forgot to add, because I read it on the city bus. It is that short... or maybe the city bus has an annoyingly circuitious route... actually kind of both. Sorry about that!
My review on Bogi Reads the World:
http://www.bogireadstheworld.com/poet...
My review on Bogi Reads the World:
http://www.bogireadstheworld.com/poet...
October 18, 2021
Absolutely stunning. I can't even dissect what makes it so good, I don't know how to reverse-engineer this kind of poetry.
"I had been asleep / safe from sad news, dreaming / of my irradiated hairless mother / pulling a thorn from the eye of a dog. / I woke from that into a blade." (p17) Makes me need to lie down and never be okay again.
"The things I've thought I've loved / could sink an ocean liner, and likely would / if given the chance." (p18) Same, dude, same.
"Being anywhere makes me thirsty. / When I wake, I ask God to slide into my head quickly before I do."
"It's exhausting, remaining / humble amidst the vicissitudes of fortune. It's difficult to be / anything at all with the whole world right here for the having." (p20)
"I charged into desire like a / tiger sprinting off the edge of / the world." (p26)
"Imagine being sand forced to watch silt dance in the Nile." (p28)
"America / is filled with wooden churches / in which I have never been baptized." (p32) Everything about this line. Everything!
"If you / could be anything in the world / you would." (p35) The subversion of the expectation there, and how concisely it's done—gorgeous.
"I like it fine, this daily struggle / to not die, to not drink or smoke or snort anything / that might return me to combustibility." (p37)
"Once, I charged into your body and invented breath. Or, / I stumbled into your mouth and found you breathing." The way "invented" is used there, and the Or, and the linebreak, the reframing of the same event from active / conquering to discovery is so brilliant.
"I live in the gulf / between what I've been given / and what I've received." (p44) Just, same. I am not okay, and it makes my heart splinter open.
"The boat I am building / will never be done." (p45) That's an amazing way to end the collection, because you get that sense of exhaustion and yet continuity.
I've honestly written down way more lines into my notebook, essentially ended up copying down entire poems. It's just so beautiful, I need to read it again and figure out how to even make something resemble it.
"I had been asleep / safe from sad news, dreaming / of my irradiated hairless mother / pulling a thorn from the eye of a dog. / I woke from that into a blade." (p17) Makes me need to lie down and never be okay again.
"The things I've thought I've loved / could sink an ocean liner, and likely would / if given the chance." (p18) Same, dude, same.
"Being anywhere makes me thirsty. / When I wake, I ask God to slide into my head quickly before I do."
"It's exhausting, remaining / humble amidst the vicissitudes of fortune. It's difficult to be / anything at all with the whole world right here for the having." (p20)
"I charged into desire like a / tiger sprinting off the edge of / the world." (p26)
"Imagine being sand forced to watch silt dance in the Nile." (p28)
"America / is filled with wooden churches / in which I have never been baptized." (p32) Everything about this line. Everything!
"If you / could be anything in the world / you would." (p35) The subversion of the expectation there, and how concisely it's done—gorgeous.
"I like it fine, this daily struggle / to not die, to not drink or smoke or snort anything / that might return me to combustibility." (p37)
"Once, I charged into your body and invented breath. Or, / I stumbled into your mouth and found you breathing." The way "invented" is used there, and the Or, and the linebreak, the reframing of the same event from active / conquering to discovery is so brilliant.
"I live in the gulf / between what I've been given / and what I've received." (p44) Just, same. I am not okay, and it makes my heart splinter open.
"The boat I am building / will never be done." (p45) That's an amazing way to end the collection, because you get that sense of exhaustion and yet continuity.
I've honestly written down way more lines into my notebook, essentially ended up copying down entire poems. It's just so beautiful, I need to read it again and figure out how to even make something resemble it.
March 2, 2017
I prepared myself to be underwhelmed with this, having just picked it up on a whim. What initially felt mediocre at best rose in a subtle and often beautiful crescendo. Words that were often raw and hungry, sometimes delicate and tender, with nostalgic reflections on youth and honest self-depreciation. This was a worthwhile, albeit rather short, book of poetry.
March 20, 2017
Layers working through some of these beauties!!!
"Lord, I meant to be helpless, sex–
less as a comma, quiet as
cotton floating on a pond..."
"Listen to me, faithful silence: somehow
we've become strangers. Growing up
I kept a housefly tied to a string tied to a lamp.
I fed him wet Tic-Tacs and idly assumed
he would outlive me. When he died
I opened myself to death, the way a fallen tree
opens itself to the wild. Now my blood
is drying on the pillow. Now the man..."
LOVE the gut, the feeling, the passion of Akbar's words! YES!!! (Sibling Rivalry Press) Get a copy!!
"Lord, I meant to be helpless, sex–
less as a comma, quiet as
cotton floating on a pond..."
"Listen to me, faithful silence: somehow
we've become strangers. Growing up
I kept a housefly tied to a string tied to a lamp.
I fed him wet Tic-Tacs and idly assumed
he would outlive me. When he died
I opened myself to death, the way a fallen tree
opens itself to the wild. Now my blood
is drying on the pillow. Now the man..."
LOVE the gut, the feeling, the passion of Akbar's words! YES!!! (Sibling Rivalry Press) Get a copy!!
February 6, 2017
Absolutely stunning.
February 10, 2017
A magnificent debut that not only challenges faith and alcoholism as pieces of oneself, but as entities of their own.
March 20, 2017
Every poem here is a stunner.
March 26, 2017
4.5 stars.
Haunting and gorgeous collection. The poems are honest and raw. Akbar's prose is delicious--lilting and full of ambiguous pauses. A slimmer collection but one that I could not put down.
Haunting and gorgeous collection. The poems are honest and raw. Akbar's prose is delicious--lilting and full of ambiguous pauses. A slimmer collection but one that I could not put down.
April 10, 2017
A beautiful and hungry collection.
January 24, 2024
sometimes you just gotta go back to the basics...love calling a wolf a wolf pilgrim bell is also good and martyr (in progress) maybe one of the best novels I've ever read but there's truly nothing better than a great poet's chapbook before all the big big stuff came down the line. all poems I've read before but feel so new presented this way. special special book
April 2, 2024
I don’t know what the deal is with Akbar’s poetry, but he has a way to make words feel alive in a sort of ominous but graceful way, and I have yet to debunk how he does it.
February 6, 2025
Critical to surviving the first days.
September 13, 2017
This collection combined with my New Poetry class is what inspired and motivated me to not only dip my toes back into creative writing, but to experiment with other languages and unconventional spacing in format. Homework hasn't been this fun in a long time! I loved reading many of Akbar's poems, but a few resonated less with me because I have zero experience with alcoholism. This did not decrease my appreciation for his work, but I felt like I missed out on some elements that I would have related to more deeply if I struggled with substance addiction.
April 26, 2017
So these are excellent and I'll be reading the complete collection when it comes out in the fall for sure.
Akbar reminds me of Rimbaud if Rimbaud had any redeemable qualities. The images here and the language around them: distinct clear. These seem both classic and of this moment.
Akbar reminds me of Rimbaud if Rimbaud had any redeemable qualities. The images here and the language around them: distinct clear. These seem both classic and of this moment.
Read
February 24, 2017Home Run King
February 25, 2017
There are no words for how stunning this is.
March 10, 2017
Beautifully spiritual with incisive explorations of vice and virtue.
March 11, 2017
So unsettling and perfect.
March 16, 2017
"Is there a vocabulary for this--one to make dailiness amplify / and not diminish wonder?"
July 23, 2017
Absolutely phenomenal.
August 2, 2017
Nice chapbook of poems with some great moments and some moments that didn't much stick with me.
May 22, 2018
When the poetry is really good, I read it aloud, so I can taste the language. I read this collection aloud for my baby, for my cat, for my husband, for anyone who could hear the cadence of my voice.
Each portrait is an epistle, Akbar’s portraiture reflects the shared history of the addresser and addressee, “the drinker and the drink.”
This book is also about the poet’s relationship to language. In “Calling a Wolf a Wolf (Inpatient),” the speaker attempts to control his cravings by naming them, as if the signifier would protect him from the signified. “I’ve given this coldness many names,” Akbar writes, “thinking if I called a wolf a wolf I might dull its fangs.”
This is a killer collection, read it now.
Each portrait is an epistle, Akbar’s portraiture reflects the shared history of the addresser and addressee, “the drinker and the drink.”
This book is also about the poet’s relationship to language. In “Calling a Wolf a Wolf (Inpatient),” the speaker attempts to control his cravings by naming them, as if the signifier would protect him from the signified. “I’ve given this coldness many names,” Akbar writes, “thinking if I called a wolf a wolf I might dull its fangs.”
This is a killer collection, read it now.
January 29, 2018
I'm giving this five stars because the poem in it are amazing. I'm giving myself only two stars because I didn't realize this is a chapbook Akbar released before Calling A Wolf A Wolf; the latter contains almost all the poems in this slim volume. Still, I enjoyed reading them again, some in an earlier and slightly different form.
If you're a fan of modern poetry, read Calling A Wolf A Wolf immediately.
If you're a fan of modern poetry, read Calling A Wolf A Wolf immediately.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 123 reviews