Part planetary love poem, part 24/7 news flash, the hypnotic poems of This Connection of Everyone with Lungs wrap with equal, angular grace around lovers and battleships. These poems hear the tracer fire in a bird's song and capture cell division and troop deployments in the same expansive thought. They move through concentric levels of association and embrace ―from the space between the hands to the mesosphere and back again―touching everything in between. The book's focus shifts between local and global, public and private, individual and social. Everything gets through all five senses, through windows, between your sheets, under your skin.
Juliana Spahr (born 1969) is an American poet, critic, and editor. She is the recipient of the 2009 Hardison Poetry Prize awarded by the Folger Shakespeare Library to honor a U.S. poet whose art and teaching demonstrate great imagination and daring.
Both Spahr's critical and scholarly studies, i.e., Everybody’s Autonomy: Connective Reading and Collective Identity (2001), and her poetry have shown Spahr's commitment to fostering a "value of reading" as a communal, democratic, open process. Her work therefore "distinguishes itself because she writes poems for which her critical work calls." In addition to teaching and writing poetry, Spahr is also an active editor. Spahr received the National Poetry Series Award for her first collection of poetry, Response (1996).
„We wake up in the night with just each others and admit that even while we believe that we want to believe that we all live in one bed ot the earth’s atmosphere, our bed is just our bed and no one else’s and we can’t figure out how to stop it from being that way.” (30)
„Going back ten generations we have nine thousand ancestors and going back twenty-five we got thirty million.” (31)
Čitanje: red radovanja ekopoetičkim momentima, red gunđanja usled napada dnevne politike na poeziju: od Amerike nakon 11. septembra, političkih košmara u Aziji, Africi i Južnoj Americi, sve do ubistva Zorana Đinđića (66). Jasno mi je – autorka je želela da, kroz poetski dnevnik, pokaže isprepletanost svih stanovnika Zemlje i fluidnost prirode&društva, međutim, tendencija je ono što sprečava ovu poeziju da bude ono što bi mogla da bude. Kataloška konstrukcija na početku podsetila me je na „O Superman” Lori Anderson, to je taj manir, pa i ton! Mogu čuti njen glas. Mada, Lori je bolja, nema sumnje.
I was a bit dubious about this book when I started out. Partly because of some of the bad reviews here, partly because, flipping through the pages, I kept stumbling on lines that didn't seem very good on their own. But the book as a whole blew me away. It's incredibly brave in the way it takes up enormous, very contemporary but also very ancient, issues, and tries to deal with them immediately and directly. So the five-star rating is due a little bit to what the book is trying to do, its aspiration: to speak about something real, primarily war, and something that's very very hard to write about. But it's also due to the book itself. Again, reading the whole thing, as opposed to individual lines, was mesmerizing and moving to me; I felt drawn in by the speaker's voice and honesty and courage and her effort to see and feel the connection between our individual and intimate and often safe lives, and what's happening to other people and other cultures, often far-off ones. The book made me realize, too, how often contemporary poetry disappoints me--though there's a lot of it I love and find necessary, too--because it doesn't seem to do what this book does, i.e. speak about real things in a real voice. So hooray, Juliana Spahr! I'm excited to read more of your work.
When I read this book I thought, poetry matters. It is a long poem written just after 9-11, which takes on the tragedy and politics surrounding that event with a lyrical elegance and an experimental sense of language that work simultaneously to capture our closeness (our collective consciousness) and the sense of distance we feel from media and overwhelming world events. I am looking forward to reading more of Spahr who seems to know just how to blend the accessible with the edgy to achieve a poetry that is both contemporary and human.
I've spent my time with the women of ambient playlist on spotify & poem 1 - titular connection - made me think that way. kara-lis coverdale's Moments in Love; Loraine James' Whatever the Weather album; Mary Lattimore, endlessly. This approach to the molecular isn't unique but Spahr's slow prose-cess pulled me in twain... at once static intrusion like yr cuts in Fire Walk With Me & equally electromagnets . Today reading the blurb of a different poet where the critic writes 'Everything written about is ennobled, an island, a fishing expedition, a walk, a shave, a friend' & partly I'm probably uncomfortable because of the unironic victorianism (ennobled??) & partly because I don't like to take that as a good thing, to make a sweeping statement, poetry's probably not about making things bigger. Who's out going ah it is my duty to ennoble my friends for them
& Spahr's second poem lurches into the tidal/time-zone / politik. Nobody knows if a good political poem was ever written but if it has happened this is a good approach. o beloveds. Beloveds, this poem is an attempt to speak with the calmness of the world seen from space and to forget the details
the image that stayed with me the most while reading is the poem's dirty shared air: the idea that we all inhale the same violence, the same systems, the same world, whether we want to or not. Spahr's "Beloveds" slowly shifts from collective to almost maternal, framing us as fragile beings just trying to survive together, and i found that tenderness genuinely moving. at times the emotional weight felt overwhelming rather than transformative, but the poem's insistence on connection – on continuing to wake, breathe, and care – remains powerful. i was also struck by the poem’s use of accumulation: the statistics, the cold listing of realities, which often grounded the text for me. sometimes heavy numbers do the work. the hard facts land.
Juliana Spahr, This Connection of Everyone with Lungs (University of California Press, 2005)
There are a handful of books I defenestrate each year. (Since June of 2007, thirty-six books have been forcefully ejected from the window in total.) Usually they're either awfully-written fiction or dry, ponderous, textbook-like nonfiction. It is very, very rare that I do it with poetry. (The exception are those hideous “verse novel”s that are taking hold of kidlit these days, not a single one of which I've tried to read has even a passing knowledge of poetry.) But every once in a while I come across a book of poetry so outright horrendous that I simply can't bring myself to read one more word of it, no matter how little I have left. And to narrow this field further, in almost every case I have sent such books flying, they've been self- or vanity-published collections larger than any single-author collection you've seen outside Bukowski or a Collected Poems from someone very famous. In all my years of reading, I have defenestrated only two major-label poetry collections. Jill Scott's book went out the window in 2006. This morning, it was joined by Juliana Spahr's This Connection of Everyone with Lungs.
I've read Spahr before, and wasn't quite sure what to make of her back then. This book erases all of my doubts; she is far more interested in getting a message across (a message, no less, you've heard hundreds of times before, with nothing new added to the mix) than she is with crafting poetry. If you've read my reviews for any length of time, you'll know where I stand on that issue. To Spahr's (minuscule) credit here, she doesn't really attempt to make this even look like poetry, which makes me wonder why California released it as such instead of, say, a micro-book of political ranting (which is exactly what this is). You want an example? Here you go:
“I speak of toxic fumes given off by plastic flooring in a burning nightclub in Caracas.
I speak of the forty-seven dead in Caracas.
And I speak of the four dead in Palestine.
And of the three dead in Israel.
I speak of those dead in other parts of the world who go unreported.” (“December 1, 2002”)
There's not even an attempt at rhythm to be had there. No attempt to elevate language. No form. Nothing but a list. And while I only managed to choke down forty-one pages of this mess, I can't imagine the remaining thirty-five were all that different. A shoo-in for my worst reads of the year list in 2010. (zero)
only three because i can't figure out how i really feel about this work. i love the ideas, feelings of separateness yet irrevocable connectivity. but the delivery, the idea behind the language poets, i can't help but despise.
While there a lot of interesting elements of the writing that work well rhetorically, I didn't find myself as dialed-in to the material as much as I think Spahr would have wanted me to be.
She's a brilliant writer-- and the first piece is phenomenal-- but I just don't care for the collective content in this one.
A great collection of inspiring poetry from an astute poet, and I didn't like it simply because I'm a respiratory therapist and the title mentions lungs.
"On this dark earth, some say the thing most lovely is the thirty thousand assault troops from Britain today joining the sixty-two thousand from the US mobilized in the past ten days and a further sixty thousand from the US on their way.
On this black earth, over the coal-black earth, some say all of this and more.
"‘In bed, when I stroke the down of yours cheeks, I stroke also the carrier battle group ships, the guided missile cruisers, and the guided missile destroyers." & “The world goes on and on. spins tighter and then looser on a wobbling axis, and it has a list of adjectives to describe it, such as various and beautiful and new, but neither light, nor certitude, nor peace exist.”
4.5 En kropsliggørelse af politik, en politiseren af kroppen, et sprog der mister sig selv i en eksistentielt mumlen.
Juliana Spahr formår virkelig at beskrive den paradoksale forbundethed, som der karakteriserer det 21. århundrede, allerede i dens spæde indledende år. Og jeg kan i hvert fald *virkelig* mærke den her digtsamlings tyngde.
"Chances are that each of those one hundred and thirty-six people dead by politics' human hands had parents and children with ties so deep that those parents and children feel fractured now, one or two days later, immersed in a pain that has an analogy only to the intensity of pleasure.
Chances are that eac of those one hundred and thirty-six people dead by politics' human hands had pets and plants that need watering. Had food to make and food to eat. Had things to read and notes to write. Had enough or had too little."
Jag gillar den inledande och den avslutande dikten, och den nånstans i mitten som är en Sapfo-travesti är lite kul. Allt annat känns som en enda dikt som tuggar på i all oändlighet, med små variationer och lite för tunt innehåll för att täcka alla sina sidor.
creo q más bien quisiera darle 3.75 porque el primer poema es precioso y se lleva casi todo el libro. lo leí en voz alta y sentí todo ese espacio del que habla, el aire entrando y saliendo y fluyendo y regresando.
después hubo uno que comienza hablando del canto de unos periquitos que también me gustó muchísimo, pero a partir de ahí sentí que se volvía demasiado repetitivo, aunque también entiendo que ese es un poco el punto. es casi como una lista de todo lo que sucede/existe en el mundo que no solamente nos hace sentir pequeñes sino impotentes, y no de una forma mira-lo-grande-que-es-el-universo-nada-importa-en-realidad, sino todo-lo-que-sucede-al-mismo-tiempo-que-amas-comes-lloras-está-intrínsecamente-conectado-entre-sí. creo que el último poema es el que mejor resume todos los de en medio, no sólo enlistando sino haciendo evidente la relación que existe entre desayunar en calma en occidente y la violencia y el despojo que suceden en oriente.
me gustó el formato de carta abierta, creo que funciona para involucrarte con ella y con les otres posibles lectores. recordé mucho lo que dice donna haraway sobre hacerse responsables de las cosas/seres que amamos.
Spahr is beautiful and heartbreaking. This book so elegantly traces the depths of sadness surrounding the current state of world affairs, the connections we have with those who suffer far away, and the suffering of our connections with those we love most, those to whom we are closest, and how we cannot have one without the other. Brilliant.
Very few poets write poems that I have been able to relate to. Very few works of art responding to September 11 rise above triteness. This collection of poems includes "Poem Written After September 11, 2001," and it flourishes in both regards. It conveys the interconnectedness of all things uniquely and indisputably over the course of its unfolding rhythmic repetition.
A recommendation from DGW. I will need to read it again. It spoke directly to some of my recent concerns about how to write beyond the lyric "I" while remaining within the lyric tradition, but it also seemed to leave space open for development. Like I said, to be read again.
I am supposed to like her, but I just have trouble getting into this book. Only read it once though, so I'll try it again. I hate giving up on a book that I know I should like...
This one doesn't make much sense until you remember that poetry is meant to be read out loud. Then it does.
The first poem is so beautiful and painful that I've spent the rest of the time reading this book on thinking about the first poem.
I was just a kid quite far away from all this action back in early 2000s, so a lot of things this book talks about I just don't remember and can't directly relate to, but the feeling of terrible things happening around, and not quite understanding if anything can be done to prevent it (probably not), and having it define your everyday life no matter what you do - this is very much applicable to the reality of the year 2019, and I, for one, am quite intimately familiar with it.