tender gravity

by Marybeth Holleman

tender gravity charts Marybeth Holleman’s quest for relationship to the more-than-human world, navigating her childhood in North Carolina to her life in Alaska, with deep time in remote land and seascapes. Always the focus is on what can be found by attention to the world beyond her own human skin, what can be found there as she negotiates loss—the loss of beloved places, wild beings, her younger brother. “do not think,” she says to her mother, “that i love a bear more than my brother. / think instead that i cannot distinguish / the variations in / the beat of a heart.” Inevitably, solace is found in the wild “step back toward that joy-sap rising, step back / into the only world that is.” In a narrative arc of seeking, falling, and finding, we hear in Holleman’s exquisitely attentive immersion clear reverberations of Mary Oliver, of Linda Hogan, of Walt Whitman. These poems of grief and celebration pulse in and out, reaching to the familiar moon and out to orphan stars of distant galaxies, then pull close to a small brown seabird and an on-the-knees view of a tiny bog plant.

Genres: Poetry

88 pages, Paperback

Published August 9, 2022

Reviews

[Hannah · Rating 5 out of 5]

This gorgeous ensemble of poems puts me there with the poet in Alaska, a place that so clearly resides in the deepest reaches of her soul. Her range is wide as the tundra and seas and skies she reimagines, from the everyday to the mortal. The poems which captivated me most were the ones where she marries her grief to the wildness we all come from. She writes, heartbreakingly,

"Do not think, mother,
that I love a bear more than my brother.
Think instead that I cannot distinguish
the variations in
the beat of a heart."

In language that is delicate and fierce in turns, sometimes contemplative and at other times searing, the tenderness of the book's title is there. As is the gravity. At both the personal and planetary levels she mourns what is lost. And she doesn't fail to praise what remains.

[Abby Franks · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautiful, placemaking, rich, and warm. She WAS reminiscent of Mary Oliver and made me feel more at home in Alaska. I appreciate the poet and can see myself coming back again and again. My only complaint that keeps it from 5 stars is the overuse of lowercase letters. I do not believe that a lack of capitalization holds more meaning when the device is used ad naseum.

[Hannah · Rating 4 out of 5]

wow. amazing stuff but especially if you’re a fan of mary oliver.

[Rhiannon Johnson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.




I enjoyed these vignettes of nature and glimpses into the author's journeys, both physical and emotional. Holleman transports readers into the beautiful wilderness to expose the breakdown of ecosystems (altered migration patterns of walruses and the relocation of birds affected by oil spills) and then sweeps our eyes up to the wonder of the stars and comets, before pulling us close to her as she grieves her brother's murder. My favorite section is from "In the Garden, Early May"


Who is to say how a day’s best spent? At the end of a life, what remains? A few scattered pages— some of them read— maybe one bright phrase that clings to the world immortal— like the seeds of birch so many and small, yet each may grow into a tree taller than a library, and as useful.





Marybeth Holleman is author of The Heart of the Sound, coauthor of Among Wolves, and coeditor Crosscurrents North, among others. Pushcart Prize nominee and Siskiyou Prize finalist, she’s published in venues including Orion, The Guardian, Christian Science Monitor, Sierra, and North American Review. She taught women’s studies and creative writing at University of Alaska and held artist residencies at Mesa Refuge, Hedgebrook, and Denali National Park. Raised in North Carolina’s Smokies, she transplanted to Alaska’s Chugach Mountains after falling head over heels for Prince William Sound two years before the oil spill. She lives in Anchorage, Alaska.

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[Gretchen Legler · Rating 5 out of 5]

These beautifully-crafted poems took me on a wild ride through grief and joy and all the biggest questions humans have ever asked, including, what is my purpose here on earth and how can I maintain the courage to continue doing good work in this damaged and gorgeous world? When Marybeth seeks solace one winter’s night amid all the bad news going down she attends a geology lecture about the 1912 volcanic eruption in Katmai. This “power, a force so great and out of human control” finally settles her in her seat. What could possibly be consoling about the destructive power of acidic ash clouds? The same mysterious thing, apparently, that we find consoling in a singular piece of birch bark, in a patch of sphagnum moss, in bird song, in melting glaciers, and in the breath of whales. In this exquisite collection full of humility and fierce wisdom, this gifted poet explores the conundrum of our human connection to the rest of creation and charts a healing way forward for all of us, one by one, and all together.

[recycledwarlock · Rating 5 out of 5]

beautiful, evocative. my personal favorite was "In the Garden, Early May," which so skillfully describes the struggle of whether to write and record or whether to simply experience.