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Now We're Getting Somewhere: Poems
A dark, no-holds-barred, and often hilarious collection from a prize-winning poet, veering between the poles of self and world. Kim Addonizio’s sharp and irreverent eighth volume, Now We’re Getting Somewhere , is an essential companion to your practice of the Finnish art of kalsarikännit ―drinking at home, alone in your underwear, with no intention of going out. Imbued with the poet’s characteristic precision and passion, the collection charts a hazardous course through heartache, climate change, dental work, Outlander , semiotics, and more. Combatting existential gloom with a wicked, seductive energy, Addonizio investigates desire, loss, and the madness of contemporary life. She calls out to Walt Whitman and John Keats, echoes Dorothy Parker, and finds sisterhood with Virginia Woolf. Sometimes confessional, sometimes philosophical, these poems weave from desolation to drollery and clamor with raucous imagery: an insect in high heels, a wolf at an uncomfortable party, a glowing and self-serious guitar. A poet whose “voice lifts from the page, alive and biting” (Sky Sanchez, San Francisco Book Review), Addonizio reminds her reader, " if you think nothing & / no one can / listen I love you joy is coming ."
- GenresPoetryNonfiction
96 pages, Hardcover
First published March 16, 2021
31 people are currently reading
486 people want to read
About the author
Kim Addonizio
65 books605 followersAuthor of several poetry collections including Tell Me, a National Book Award Finalist. My Black Angel is a book of blues poems with woodcuts by Charles D. Jones, from SFA Press. The Palace of Illusions is a story collection from Counterpoint/Soft Skull. A New & Selected, Wild Nights, is out in the UK from Bloodaxe Books.
2016 publications: Mortal Trash, new poems, from W.W. Norton, awarded the Paterson Poetry Prize. A memoir, Bukowski in a Sundress: Confessions from a Writing Life, from Penguin.
Two instructional books on writing poetry: The Poet's Companion (with Dorianne Laux), and Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within.
First novel, Little Beauties, was published by Simon & Schuster and chosen as "Best Book of the Month" by Book of the Month Club. My Dreams Out in the Street, second novel, released by Simon & Schuster in 2007.
A new word/music CD, "My Black Angel, "is a collaboration with several musicians and contains all the poems in the book of that name. That and an earlier word/music CD with poet Susan Browne, "Swearing, Smoking, Drinking, & Kissing," available from cdbaby.com. There's an earlier book of stories, In the Box Called Pleasure (FC2); and the anthology Dorothy Parker's Elbow: Tattoos on Writers, Writers on Tattoos,, co-edited with Cheryl Dumesnil.
I teach poetry workshops at conferences and online through my web site. I also play blues harmonica, and I'm learning jazz flute. Music is a good place to focus when I'm in a writing slump.
2016 publications: Mortal Trash, new poems, from W.W. Norton, awarded the Paterson Poetry Prize. A memoir, Bukowski in a Sundress: Confessions from a Writing Life, from Penguin.
Two instructional books on writing poetry: The Poet's Companion (with Dorianne Laux), and Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within.
First novel, Little Beauties, was published by Simon & Schuster and chosen as "Best Book of the Month" by Book of the Month Club. My Dreams Out in the Street, second novel, released by Simon & Schuster in 2007.
A new word/music CD, "My Black Angel, "is a collaboration with several musicians and contains all the poems in the book of that name. That and an earlier word/music CD with poet Susan Browne, "Swearing, Smoking, Drinking, & Kissing," available from cdbaby.com. There's an earlier book of stories, In the Box Called Pleasure (FC2); and the anthology Dorothy Parker's Elbow: Tattoos on Writers, Writers on Tattoos,, co-edited with Cheryl Dumesnil.
I teach poetry workshops at conferences and online through my web site. I also play blues harmonica, and I'm learning jazz flute. Music is a good place to focus when I'm in a writing slump.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 68 reviews
April 20, 2021
"I'm going to walk away slowly and not look back.
Now we're getting somewhere"--KIm Addonizio
I have read a few collections of poetry by KIm Addonizio, whose memoir is entitled Bukowksi in a Sundress (someone had characterized her as such in a review). That works for her, obviously, since she took it as a tltle, a compliment (or confession), and so do I. I love Tell Me and This Thing Called Love, and I very much also like this book; they all call on similar themes: booze, sex, hilarity, despair. She seems to be struggling more than usual with the grim state of the world, but the textures in her poetry are still wild, sometimes reaching the point of gutter exhilaration, as Bukowski herself does. You can't look away, and partly because some of the trainwreck she's driving is beautiful.
Here's one whole poem:
Stay
So your device has a low battery & seems to drain faster each day.
Maybe you should double your medication.
You might feel queasy, but also as if the spatula flattening you to the fry pan
has lifted a little.
So your breath comes out scorched, so what.
Inside, trust me on this,
there’s a ribbon of beach by a lake,
in the sand, fragments of a fossilized creature resembling a tulip.
Back in the Paleozoic, online wasn’t invented yet
so everyone had to wander alone & miserable through the volcanic wastes
or just glue themselves to a rock hoping someone would pass by.
Now you can sob to an image of your friend a continent away
& be consoled.
Please wait for the transmissions, however faint.
Listen: when a stranger steps into the elevator with a bouquet of white
roses not meant for you,
they’re meant for you.
And then there are poems with dark, self-deprecating humor, as with Bukowski, or in this case another smart-ass inspiration, Dorothy Parker:
Resume
"Families shame you;
Rehab's a scam;
Lovers drain you;
They don't give a damn;
Friends are distracted;
Aging stinks;
You'll soon be subtracted;
You might as well drink"
More on booze:
"You stand in a shallow creek & your reflection floats slowly downstream
without you.
Alcohol is your emotional support animal."
Reminds me of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUmZp...
In a section entitled Confessional Poetry:
"Writing is like firing a nail gun into the corner of a vanity mirror
or slowly shaking a souvenir snow-globe of asbestos & shame
to quiet an imaginary baby."
Ex
"When I think of him now I think of the money he stole from me
I remember the mice in his couch & the dying fish in his aquarium
& also feeling like a gilded royal barge was ceremoniously moving through
my blood. . .
Some things are destined to be ruined
Cheap dresses student housing self esteem romantic projections
Ice sculptures of dead jazz musicians turning to mush in the rain"
The Truth
"You could spend all day bored and unhinged,
counting to a thousand, closing the windows,
terrified by leaves. Look at your hand, it won't
open to reveal what's coming"
Not always a life of quiet desperation, but desperation, for sure. Girls just want to have fun? Not quite! Addiction poems close to despair, and also addicted to language and poetry: "I Can't Stop Loving You, John Keats." Poetry as therapy? Maybe. Poetry as lifeline, for sure.
"Oh as usual all I can see is time & death
Everything is already lost
& not coming back"
Though these poems do, for sure, I say, come back, and I to them.
Now we're getting somewhere"--KIm Addonizio
I have read a few collections of poetry by KIm Addonizio, whose memoir is entitled Bukowksi in a Sundress (someone had characterized her as such in a review). That works for her, obviously, since she took it as a tltle, a compliment (or confession), and so do I. I love Tell Me and This Thing Called Love, and I very much also like this book; they all call on similar themes: booze, sex, hilarity, despair. She seems to be struggling more than usual with the grim state of the world, but the textures in her poetry are still wild, sometimes reaching the point of gutter exhilaration, as Bukowski herself does. You can't look away, and partly because some of the trainwreck she's driving is beautiful.
Here's one whole poem:
Stay
So your device has a low battery & seems to drain faster each day.
Maybe you should double your medication.
You might feel queasy, but also as if the spatula flattening you to the fry pan
has lifted a little.
So your breath comes out scorched, so what.
Inside, trust me on this,
there’s a ribbon of beach by a lake,
in the sand, fragments of a fossilized creature resembling a tulip.
Back in the Paleozoic, online wasn’t invented yet
so everyone had to wander alone & miserable through the volcanic wastes
or just glue themselves to a rock hoping someone would pass by.
Now you can sob to an image of your friend a continent away
& be consoled.
Please wait for the transmissions, however faint.
Listen: when a stranger steps into the elevator with a bouquet of white
roses not meant for you,
they’re meant for you.
And then there are poems with dark, self-deprecating humor, as with Bukowski, or in this case another smart-ass inspiration, Dorothy Parker:
Resume
"Families shame you;
Rehab's a scam;
Lovers drain you;
They don't give a damn;
Friends are distracted;
Aging stinks;
You'll soon be subtracted;
You might as well drink"
More on booze:
"You stand in a shallow creek & your reflection floats slowly downstream
without you.
Alcohol is your emotional support animal."
Reminds me of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUmZp...
In a section entitled Confessional Poetry:
"Writing is like firing a nail gun into the corner of a vanity mirror
or slowly shaking a souvenir snow-globe of asbestos & shame
to quiet an imaginary baby."
Ex
"When I think of him now I think of the money he stole from me
I remember the mice in his couch & the dying fish in his aquarium
& also feeling like a gilded royal barge was ceremoniously moving through
my blood. . .
Some things are destined to be ruined
Cheap dresses student housing self esteem romantic projections
Ice sculptures of dead jazz musicians turning to mush in the rain"
The Truth
"You could spend all day bored and unhinged,
counting to a thousand, closing the windows,
terrified by leaves. Look at your hand, it won't
open to reveal what's coming"
Not always a life of quiet desperation, but desperation, for sure. Girls just want to have fun? Not quite! Addiction poems close to despair, and also addicted to language and poetry: "I Can't Stop Loving You, John Keats." Poetry as therapy? Maybe. Poetry as lifeline, for sure.
"Oh as usual all I can see is time & death
Everything is already lost
& not coming back"
Though these poems do, for sure, I say, come back, and I to them.
January 15, 2023
It does not at all surprise me that Kim Addonizio compares herself to Bukowski in the title of her memoir, as in everything I've read from her she shares his glorying in the low and rotten and wrong and dissipated, but also shares his central core of hope and love; her cynicism is driven by disappointed hope (of course, since I haven't read that memoir yet, she could also be making a pointed joke about the crappy person Bukowski was. Addonizio seems to effortlessly be able to operate on at least four levels at the same time). This is on full display in this collection in poems like "Signs":
"This morning the East River Ferry is just a boat
pulling up to the ugly little park in Williamsburg
& Manhattan isn't the underworld projecting its
eternal office buildings into those clouds
The seagull landing on my balcony isn't an image of
transcendence or being destroyed by love
There isn't any meaning in things
There probably aren't even any things
which is hard to think about & this morning I don't
want to think about
anything
but I do, I think about...things
as each special, unique individual in the long line
below my window steps onto the ferry
as rain slips down not representing the Many cleaved
from the One & black umbrellas unfold
I think about the giant wax man in the museum with
three wicks in his head slowly burning
& the hollow as his face starts to melt from the inside
& the heartsick woman who jumped from the bridge,
hauled up & covered with a tarp on the dock
I'm sick of death & sick to death of romantic love but I
still want to live if only to rearrange the base metals of
my depression
like canned lima beans on a mid-century modern
dinner plate
My last love had beautiful green eyes
Eyes like two caged parrots refusing to say anything
Eyes like two rivers filling with toxic runoff
Maybe later today the sun will come out and smile like
a kind nanny but it won't be a kind nanny, or even a
mean nanny, shaking me hard One day it will just cool,
like...a star
When the clock says 11:11 it doesn't mean
the design of things has risen to the surface & been
made manifest
It means I'm still here hours later watching the boats
dock & then leave without me
It means the people who commuted across the river to
work on Wall Street
are still there, their eye like suitcases of small, unmarked bills
& everything is going to change for the worse"
Wow. Just....wow. The three similes she sneaks in there in a poem about how nothing is a simile are brutal and raw and hurting and amazing. This is the second collection of Addonizio's that I've read and loved and it won't be my last.
**Thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
"This morning the East River Ferry is just a boat
pulling up to the ugly little park in Williamsburg
& Manhattan isn't the underworld projecting its
eternal office buildings into those clouds
The seagull landing on my balcony isn't an image of
transcendence or being destroyed by love
There isn't any meaning in things
There probably aren't even any things
which is hard to think about & this morning I don't
want to think about
anything
but I do, I think about...things
as each special, unique individual in the long line
below my window steps onto the ferry
as rain slips down not representing the Many cleaved
from the One & black umbrellas unfold
I think about the giant wax man in the museum with
three wicks in his head slowly burning
& the hollow as his face starts to melt from the inside
& the heartsick woman who jumped from the bridge,
hauled up & covered with a tarp on the dock
I'm sick of death & sick to death of romantic love but I
still want to live if only to rearrange the base metals of
my depression
like canned lima beans on a mid-century modern
dinner plate
My last love had beautiful green eyes
Eyes like two caged parrots refusing to say anything
Eyes like two rivers filling with toxic runoff
Maybe later today the sun will come out and smile like
a kind nanny but it won't be a kind nanny, or even a
mean nanny, shaking me hard One day it will just cool,
like...a star
When the clock says 11:11 it doesn't mean
the design of things has risen to the surface & been
made manifest
It means I'm still here hours later watching the boats
dock & then leave without me
It means the people who commuted across the river to
work on Wall Street
are still there, their eye like suitcases of small, unmarked bills
& everything is going to change for the worse"
Wow. Just....wow. The three similes she sneaks in there in a poem about how nothing is a simile are brutal and raw and hurting and amazing. This is the second collection of Addonizio's that I've read and loved and it won't be my last.
**Thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
September 2, 2022
In every Kim Addonizio book there is one poem that, all by itself, makes the collection worthwhile.
In her book Tell Me, die example, it was For Desire. In this collection, which is new work, the poem is To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall. Here, all of this poet's courage and imagery, her sense of rhythm and understanding of how a poem builds -- her powers, really -- are on full and unabashed display. The result is heartbreaking, familiar, true and uplifting, all at once.
Buy the book for that poem, and there will be plenty more to move you. The last lines of this book:
"Listen: When a stranger steps into the elevator with a bouquet of white
roses not meant for you
they're meant for you."
That what reading this collection is like. The roses are for you.
In her book Tell Me, die example, it was For Desire. In this collection, which is new work, the poem is To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall. Here, all of this poet's courage and imagery, her sense of rhythm and understanding of how a poem builds -- her powers, really -- are on full and unabashed display. The result is heartbreaking, familiar, true and uplifting, all at once.
Buy the book for that poem, and there will be plenty more to move you. The last lines of this book:
"Listen: When a stranger steps into the elevator with a bouquet of white
roses not meant for you
they're meant for you."
That what reading this collection is like. The roses are for you.
March 22, 2022
I should preface this by a disclaimer…I do not normally or habitually read poetry. Poetry for me is an experiment to occasionally tentatively check out. Also, I do not normally use the word energy to describe books. Or most things that aren’t physics related, for that matter.
So when I say that this poetry collection had a strangely enjoyable energy…it’s unusual, highly unusual.
And yet…it did.
I’ve never heard of the Finnish art of kalsarikännit, nor do I practice it, and yet if someone must, let it be this author, who gets such visceral exquisitely worded laments out of it. Be it about dating, loneliness or random things, these poems were actually fun to read. Poetry? Fun? Go figure. But yeah there you go.
So when I say that this poetry collection had a strangely enjoyable energy…it’s unusual, highly unusual.
And yet…it did.
I’ve never heard of the Finnish art of kalsarikännit, nor do I practice it, and yet if someone must, let it be this author, who gets such visceral exquisitely worded laments out of it. Be it about dating, loneliness or random things, these poems were actually fun to read. Poetry? Fun? Go figure. But yeah there you go.
May 18, 2021
The edge of Dorothy Parker and the grit of Lars von Trier, I really liked this. Useful, satisfying, and soulful.
September 4, 2023
Uneven but the good ones, oh they are so good.
May 29, 2021
Bracing, blazing, wry-laugh-inducing collection from my favorite contemporary poet Kim Addonizio. Worth keeping at your side over the course of the week to consume a few samples from time to time so you don't surf through it in one sitting. A key line: “Writing is like firing a nail gun into the center of a vanity mirror or slowly shaking a souvenir snow-globe of asbestos & shame to quiet an imaginary baby.”
Bawdy, skewering, given to drink, Addonizio presents brilliant images in an atmosphere that feels like a bar kept open after closing: honest, regretful, maudlin, hopeful, and wondering whether it’s possible to get one more.
Here’s a favorite:
TO THE WOMAN CRYING UNCONTROLLABLY IN THE NEXT STALL
If you ever woke in your dress at 4 a.m. ever
closed your legs to someone you loved opened
them for someone you didn’t moved against
a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach
seaweed clinging to your ankles paid
good money for a bad haircut backed away
from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled
into the back seat for lack of a tampon
if you swam across a river under rain sang
using a dildo for a microphone stayed up
to watch the moon eat the sun entire
ripped out the stitches in your heart
because why not if you think nothing &
no one can / listen I love you joy is coming
Bawdy, skewering, given to drink, Addonizio presents brilliant images in an atmosphere that feels like a bar kept open after closing: honest, regretful, maudlin, hopeful, and wondering whether it’s possible to get one more.
Here’s a favorite:
TO THE WOMAN CRYING UNCONTROLLABLY IN THE NEXT STALL
If you ever woke in your dress at 4 a.m. ever
closed your legs to someone you loved opened
them for someone you didn’t moved against
a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach
seaweed clinging to your ankles paid
good money for a bad haircut backed away
from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled
into the back seat for lack of a tampon
if you swam across a river under rain sang
using a dildo for a microphone stayed up
to watch the moon eat the sun entire
ripped out the stitches in your heart
because why not if you think nothing &
no one can / listen I love you joy is coming
December 29, 2020
Having studied poetry with Addonizio's book "Ordinary Genius", it was no surprise that I fell in love with her words once again. Her diction is stunning, even from the first poem alone, "Night In The Castle", it's evident that her words are picked with absolute precision. I adored her attention to nature and bugs throughout the collection. Combining this attention to the world and Addonizio's subtle cheeky vulgarness, I thought the works as a whole were entertaining and eye-opening. I can't wait to hold this collection in my hands and be able to annotate it, as well as share it with my poet friends!
— read as DRC
— read as DRC
Read
May 30, 2022vibes: late night walking on cobblestone streets in scuffed black leather pump heels, martini in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, eyeliner and mascara slightly smeared; also all of this except in bed the entire next day.
I liked how gritty and sometimes bizarre(?) the associations are in these poems. Plus, my enjambment-loving brain was very happy. "To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall" is still a favorite of mine. I also really liked "Animals", "In Bed", "Small Talk".
I liked how gritty and sometimes bizarre(?) the associations are in these poems. Plus, my enjambment-loving brain was very happy. "To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall" is still a favorite of mine. I also really liked "Animals", "In Bed", "Small Talk".
January 9, 2023
The feeling of reading this collection is best summed up by a line from John Prine's song, Summer's End:
Come on home
No you don't have to be alone
Just come on home.
Not all of us feel like this world, with its rules, is some giant gift. There are so many problems and pains, and then there are the people we love, that make us want to stay, if grudgingly. If you Google the viral poem from this collection--"To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall"--and it comforts you, you'll love the book.
Come on home
No you don't have to be alone
Just come on home.
Not all of us feel like this world, with its rules, is some giant gift. There are so many problems and pains, and then there are the people we love, that make us want to stay, if grudgingly. If you Google the viral poem from this collection--"To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall"--and it comforts you, you'll love the book.
July 16, 2024
Perhaps the best collection of poetry I've read this year. Really, really good.
August 2, 2025
"The once I was a nineteenth-century Russian novel but now I'm a frozen chicken entrée feeling"
July 1, 2021
Books of poems are hard to rate, but I did like reading these poems. Some were relatable and some I just appreciated the art.
I was inspire to try some poems of my own, which is always a nice impact to have.
Would love to try reading some of her other work.
I was inspire to try some poems of my own, which is always a nice impact to have.
Would love to try reading some of her other work.
December 20, 2023
“Signs” was my favorite.
April 29, 2021
Oh My God! I want to have Kim Addonizio's babies! lines like:
"Right now I feel like a menthol filter. I float face-up in the toilet."
make we want to stand up and cheer.
"Right now I feel like a menthol filter. I float face-up in the toilet."
make we want to stand up and cheer.
February 8, 2021
There are poetry volumes that will end up being exactly what you were hoping for, delighting and inspiring just the way you imagined when you first sat down to read. Maybe you've purchased the latest by a favorite poet, maybe you've been gifted a new volume from a trusted friend, or perhaps a positive review has raised your expectations about a new work. Now We're Getting Somewhere by Kim Addonizio is one of those books. I could not have been more pleased to discover that my enjoyment of this poet's work and my fascination with her creativity were well-rewarded with an impressive new new collection of fantastic poems.
There are a lot of winners here, but I'd be willing to bet "To The Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall" might alone justify the purchase price of the whole book. I'm looking forward to coming back to this one over and over.
"Archive of Recent Uncomfortable Emotions" is another standout for me, and I'm looking forward to sharing this one with a therapist friend who enjoys reading whatever has me worked up this week.
I'm tempted to share something specific that I enjoyed about every poem in the book, but I'll let you enjoy discovering the delights contained in each for yourself. Don't miss this one.
There are a lot of winners here, but I'd be willing to bet "To The Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall" might alone justify the purchase price of the whole book. I'm looking forward to coming back to this one over and over.
"Archive of Recent Uncomfortable Emotions" is another standout for me, and I'm looking forward to sharing this one with a therapist friend who enjoys reading whatever has me worked up this week.
I'm tempted to share something specific that I enjoyed about every poem in the book, but I'll let you enjoy discovering the delights contained in each for yourself. Don't miss this one.
June 14, 2021
Night in the Castle
I’m not sure what to do about that scorpion twitching on the wall
Maybe I should slam it with this book of terrible poetry
or just read aloud to it until it dies of a histrionic metaphor
bleeding out on the ancient stones in a five-octave aria
If I get a little drunker I might try to murder it with my sandal
I gave up on mercy a while ago
That’s what happens when you live in a castle on an artist’s grant
You look at the late-afternoon Umbrian light smearing itself over the tomato vines
& feel entitled—like an underage duchess whose husband has finally died of gout
leaving her free for more secret liaisons with the court musician
She might even have poisoned the duke, the lecherous shit
It’s hard to remember what life was like before this
& I don’t want to, I want to stay here & poison the king next
I want to be a feared & beloved queen ordering up fresh linens & beheadings
locking up bad poets in their artisanal hair shirts
torturing academics with pornographic marionette performances
Meanwhile the scorpion is still there twitching slightly
reciting something about violence & the prison of ego
& I can hear the clashing armies on the wide lawn outside
sinking down into history & then standing up again
I’m not sure what to do about that scorpion twitching on the wall
Maybe I should slam it with this book of terrible poetry
or just read aloud to it until it dies of a histrionic metaphor
bleeding out on the ancient stones in a five-octave aria
If I get a little drunker I might try to murder it with my sandal
I gave up on mercy a while ago
That’s what happens when you live in a castle on an artist’s grant
You look at the late-afternoon Umbrian light smearing itself over the tomato vines
& feel entitled—like an underage duchess whose husband has finally died of gout
leaving her free for more secret liaisons with the court musician
She might even have poisoned the duke, the lecherous shit
It’s hard to remember what life was like before this
& I don’t want to, I want to stay here & poison the king next
I want to be a feared & beloved queen ordering up fresh linens & beheadings
locking up bad poets in their artisanal hair shirts
torturing academics with pornographic marionette performances
Meanwhile the scorpion is still there twitching slightly
reciting something about violence & the prison of ego
& I can hear the clashing armies on the wide lawn outside
sinking down into history & then standing up again
December 27, 2021
Kim Addonizio is a one of a kind poet; fearless, authentic, precise, charming, comedic, dark and gloomy all mixed into a unique voice and style. It's some of the many reasons why I appreciate her work.
She writes with bluntness that can be shocking when you're not expecting it, especially some of the word choices or imagery, and she writes with a dark edge that can send a poem plummeting to an intense yet satisfying end.
I love everything she does, and in this collection she seems to take on a more observational tone and spends a section examining her past confessional work. Her confessional poetry collections like Tell Me and What Is This Thing Called Love will always be #1 for me, not just from Addonizio, but from many other contemporary poets as well. I miss those raw and intense poems, but it was interesting to see Addonizio step outside that yet still have the spirit of it lingering in this collection.
She writes with bluntness that can be shocking when you're not expecting it, especially some of the word choices or imagery, and she writes with a dark edge that can send a poem plummeting to an intense yet satisfying end.
I love everything she does, and in this collection she seems to take on a more observational tone and spends a section examining her past confessional work. Her confessional poetry collections like Tell Me and What Is This Thing Called Love will always be #1 for me, not just from Addonizio, but from many other contemporary poets as well. I miss those raw and intense poems, but it was interesting to see Addonizio step outside that yet still have the spirit of it lingering in this collection.
December 10, 2022
happiness report, in bed, and people you don’t know had glimmers of the usual kim addonizio brilliance but overall this collection was deeply mediocre.
June 14, 2025
very solid 4.7; addonizio's poetry, esp her use of imagery, is innovative and darkly comedic and terribly relatable. the collection doesn't have much coherency/ a strong narrative as a whole, but the poems as individual pieces are wonderful
December 3, 2022
Some of these poems have hidden switchblades buried in their lines.
You never know when that blade is going to pop out
and cut you in a beautiful bleed.
You never know when that blade is going to pop out
and cut you in a beautiful bleed.
December 7, 2023
Addonizio is a master of standard poetic tricks (metaphor, variations meter). But she also strategically laces her "witty, unhinged verses" with sly, ironic humor, some confrontational raunchiness, and even parodies of academic writing programs ("An eruption of coherence in the post-modern seminar"). For an evocative setting she invokes not just light but Umbrian light, which is not just shining but "smearing itself." The phrase "something died in your eyes" would be modestly effective on its own, but she gavages it in by adding "I can smell it."
Her special genius at constructing poems lies in precipitously spanning the mundane and the profound in a couple verses, leaping from the immediate to the historical. Other poets invoke past creative eras; Addonizio tries to merge with them.
Sometimes she is effective offering a poem that is direct and concise, such as showing the struggle of wild feelings inside a veneer of civilization in Wolf Song, or the effects of a romantic breakup on narcissistic self-regard in Ghosted and Ex.
Not every metaphor hits its mark; comparing a lover's eyes to parrots can be engaging (especially when contrasted with the eyes of Wall Street traders later)—but what do canned lima beans have to do with depression? Perhaps great poems undermine the reader's assumption, but in this book snarky side commentary intrudes even into a poem about death.
She subverts the nature imagery that poets have loved so much since the Romantic era, making elements of nature into foreboding portents of disaster. I hope Addonizio doesn't live in the world she made for herself in this book. At least I don't believe she felt all the "uncomfortable feelings" in her archive.
The first section has a lot of social and political commentary, but most of the book might be considered to fall into the category of confessional poetry (in fact, that's the title of one section), where Addonizio therapeutically processes romantic relationships gone wrong. To me, she seemed to be overplaying the theme of unrequited love a bit, but it worked for Petrarch, so what the hell.
Her special genius at constructing poems lies in precipitously spanning the mundane and the profound in a couple verses, leaping from the immediate to the historical. Other poets invoke past creative eras; Addonizio tries to merge with them.
Sometimes she is effective offering a poem that is direct and concise, such as showing the struggle of wild feelings inside a veneer of civilization in Wolf Song, or the effects of a romantic breakup on narcissistic self-regard in Ghosted and Ex.
Not every metaphor hits its mark; comparing a lover's eyes to parrots can be engaging (especially when contrasted with the eyes of Wall Street traders later)—but what do canned lima beans have to do with depression? Perhaps great poems undermine the reader's assumption, but in this book snarky side commentary intrudes even into a poem about death.
She subverts the nature imagery that poets have loved so much since the Romantic era, making elements of nature into foreboding portents of disaster. I hope Addonizio doesn't live in the world she made for herself in this book. At least I don't believe she felt all the "uncomfortable feelings" in her archive.
The first section has a lot of social and political commentary, but most of the book might be considered to fall into the category of confessional poetry (in fact, that's the title of one section), where Addonizio therapeutically processes romantic relationships gone wrong. To me, she seemed to be overplaying the theme of unrequited love a bit, but it worked for Petrarch, so what the hell.
August 11, 2021
If you expect lyrical poetry, look elsewhere. Addonizio's language is rough, almost vulgar in places. Some of the poems sound autobiographical; some seem to draw from real experiences to draw a fictional picture; most of them are liberally watered with alcohol. There are powerful images and emotions and yet... they left me almost cold.
In her autobiography, Addonizio compares herself to Bukowski and this collection proves that - Bukowski's style had always been alien to me and Addonizio's work reminded me of some of his - more feminine, more contemporary, more relatable but still a bit away from the style of poetry I like.
I am still happy that I read it - some of the images she created were worth working through the language but I am not sure that I will be looking for any more of her collections.
In her autobiography, Addonizio compares herself to Bukowski and this collection proves that - Bukowski's style had always been alien to me and Addonizio's work reminded me of some of his - more feminine, more contemporary, more relatable but still a bit away from the style of poetry I like.
I am still happy that I read it - some of the images she created were worth working through the language but I am not sure that I will be looking for any more of her collections.
July 24, 2022
Addonizio has always been a genius at subverting expectations. I can be reading along, sort of enjoying a poem and suddenly find myself blasted into some kind of poetic hyperspace. I so often find myself saying “how did she do that?” and rereading to find out.
The poems in this collection are perfectly attuned to the disruption, disillusion, and disturbing times we’re living through. (Does everyone always feel this way? It’s worse now than ever, isn’t it?) Addonizio writes, with exquisite precision, of loneliness and despair, yet her poems sparkle with verve and wit and anger and love and jazzy energy. These poems are of the moment but also reflect the essence of human existence. We are all ultimately alone and know we’re going to die and rot. So we might as well drink, right? And we might as well wrest some humor out of it all — which Addonizio does brilliantly.
The poems in this collection are perfectly attuned to the disruption, disillusion, and disturbing times we’re living through. (Does everyone always feel this way? It’s worse now than ever, isn’t it?) Addonizio writes, with exquisite precision, of loneliness and despair, yet her poems sparkle with verve and wit and anger and love and jazzy energy. These poems are of the moment but also reflect the essence of human existence. We are all ultimately alone and know we’re going to die and rot. So we might as well drink, right? And we might as well wrest some humor out of it all — which Addonizio does brilliantly.
May 13, 2024
at times she rly dgaf. i was amused. here are some random lines:
I know you like grass but it's no fun to be a pricey pre-hamburger, ruminating with no TV
/
The earth is about used up
like the preserved atrophied brain of a retired NFL defensive lineman leaking cryoprotectant
/
where the dancers blindside each other with longing
/
Whatever it is in me
that crawls like a wasp over the remains
of a picnic, used napkins blown
over the senseless grass — tell me
how to kill it.
/
indifferent base God between either darkness
/
An eruption of coherence in the post-modern seminar.
/
feeling like a fish trapped in a European pedicure spa while the tiny, whining violins of privilege play
I know you like grass but it's no fun to be a pricey pre-hamburger, ruminating with no TV
/
The earth is about used up
like the preserved atrophied brain of a retired NFL defensive lineman leaking cryoprotectant
/
where the dancers blindside each other with longing
/
Whatever it is in me
that crawls like a wasp over the remains
of a picnic, used napkins blown
over the senseless grass — tell me
how to kill it.
/
indifferent base God between either darkness
/
An eruption of coherence in the post-modern seminar.
/
feeling like a fish trapped in a European pedicure spa while the tiny, whining violins of privilege play
April 26, 2025
4.5. I think the only poem I knew by Kim before reading this was one included here, "To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall," which lists a bunch of the indignities of modern womanhood before concluding with, "listen I love you joy is coming." And the other poems in this book have similar vibes- sad but hopeful with a touch of sass. I loved one poem called "All Hallows Eve," and some really wonderful metaphors in many poems. There's one poem titled "Resume" and modeled after Dorothy Parker's poem of the same name that substitutes "drink" with "live" in the last line. And there are stanzas like these:
"A guitar, like a heart, has a hole in it
It heaves out its music like a twerking volcano
like a faucet leaking bluebells in a gutted house"
"A guitar, like a heart, has a hole in it
It heaves out its music like a twerking volcano
like a faucet leaking bluebells in a gutted house"
September 5, 2021
I've been pretty cool on Addonizio's work in the past, including seeing her read and thinking there wasn't much to it. But this volume, up till the last section, really worked for me.... Addonizio has a direct POV and a clear voice, one that's willing to use adjectives to make sure she's not fucking around, and she gives it to you straight. There are lots of poem-length metaphors here (not quite conceits), and this allows her to extend the reach of her observations and to elevate them. These are angry poems, but given the current climate of the fourth wave of covid and the TX abortion ban, etc, that anger feels well earned.
June 6, 2021
Writing is like firing a nail gun into the center of a vanity mirror
You can open any page in this wonderful collection and be moved by a line that's poignant, human, and maybe even hilarious, sometimes all at once. Many lines of her verse are both so obvious and yet revelatory at the same time, as if the author is showing us something we've seen all our lives but in a brand new way. I'm excited to have this on my shelf & look forward to reading it again.
June 21, 2022
Somehow, Kim Addonzio won me over.
I tend not to love poems that know they’re poems. Or snarky humor. Or writers who know how smart they are. Yet, Addonzio was able to include all of these things in this collection and I still really enjoyed it. She balances despair and hope, humor and sincerity. She writes with dry honesty without sacrificing beautiful lyricism.
By the end, I wanted to share a cigarette and a bottle of wine with her. Excited to read her other stuff.
I tend not to love poems that know they’re poems. Or snarky humor. Or writers who know how smart they are. Yet, Addonzio was able to include all of these things in this collection and I still really enjoyed it. She balances despair and hope, humor and sincerity. She writes with dry honesty without sacrificing beautiful lyricism.
By the end, I wanted to share a cigarette and a bottle of wine with her. Excited to read her other stuff.
December 1, 2022
I bought this after I read elsewhere a poem of hers that was stunningly good. And she us a good poet with a mastery of language. No question about that. But... well, in her own words.
Oh as usual all I can see is time and death
Everything is already lost
& not coming back
Hmmph.
Oh as usual all I can see is time and death
Everything is already lost
& not coming back
Hmmph.
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