A devastating, vulnerable collection tracing high-risk pregnancy and new motherhood amid grief.
“All my life all I’ve wanted was to be myself / and someone else,” writes Elizabeth Metzger. From the shadowy perspective of confinement, where the presence of death unsettles all outcomes, these poems examine an expansion and fracturing of the self—into motherhood as well as childhood, into past selves and future unknowns. The child becomes parent, the parent becomes child, the child arrives but in doing so is lost. New loss haunts new life, and life becomes “one or two lives.” The door is more valuable than the prize behind it. With ambivalence as well as deep feeling, Metzger wonders how a single body can be expected to hold both immense joy and immense mourning, profound longing and creeping numbness, when one so often overtakes the other. She plunges into the darkness inside—of the gloomy room, the inner body, the afterlife and the pre-language mind—and sends back “a searchlight across the underworld,” Eurydice in search of herself. Aching and contemplative, Lying In is an exquisite portrait of an in-between time—and of the person who emerges on the other side. “Isn’t it obvious how we’ve changed?”
Beguiling, otherworldly, sometimes opaque or inscrutable, like her teacher Lucie, yet reverent, piercing, often true. The fourth section is a true standout—bright and heartbreaking and mercurial.
Some poetry collections just don't click with you and that is A okay. If you enjoyed Bless The Daughter Who Was Raised By The Voice In Her Head, then I'd recommend this one.
Lying In is a deeply contemplative poetry collection that examines pregnancy, motherhood, grief, loss, and the complicated ways identity can change through major life transitions. Elizabeth Metzger approaches these experiences with vulnerability and emotional precision, creating poems that sit in the uncertain space between joy and mourning, creation and disappearance, and the self one once knew and the self that emerges afterward.
One of the collection's most compelling qualities is the way it refuses to present motherhood as a purely celebratory experience. Instead, Metzger explores ambivalence, confinement, longing, fear, love, bodily transformation, and the emotional contradictions that can exist simultaneously. The poems consider how becoming a parent can also mean confronting one's own childhood, past selves, mortality, and the possibility of profound loss.
The imagery and philosophical questions give the collection a broader resonance beyond its immediate subject matter. Ideas of birth, death, identity, memory, relationships, and transformation become interconnected, allowing the poems to explore what it means to exist between different versions of oneself. The restrained, carefully shaped language adds to the intensity, giving individual poems room to accumulate meaning without relying on excessive explanation.
For readers of contemporary poetry, Lying In offers an intimate and intellectually engaging examination of experiences that are often described too simply. Its focus on motherhood, grief, bodily experience, vulnerability, and the tension between new life and loss makes it particularly relevant to readers interested in women's writing, confessional poetry, contemporary lyric poetry, and poetry that engages seriously with questions of identity and mortality.
With a Goodreads rating of 3.87 from 67 ratings and 9 written reviews, Lying In already has an established reader presence while still offering room to reach a wider poetry audience. Its publication by Milkweed Editions, along with Metzger's broader literary profile and publication history, provides strong foundations for continued discovery among poetry readers, literary communities, university audiences, and readers drawn to emotionally complex contemporary verse.
Some of these poems I really liked (or at the very least I found something to appreciate), but most just seemed like jumbles of mixed metaphors. Confessional ramblings. Abstractions wrapped in pseudo-imagery. I felt nothing reading this collection. I was just . . . numb and confused. Rereading the poems just left me more confused. Is this really the stuff we're publishing in the likes of the New Yorker, Poetry, and the Paris Review? Okay then. Clearly I'm just not cerebral enough to understand such high-level stuff.
What a stunning collection. Clearly in the vein of Sarah Vap and others who write powerfully and with the strange language (in a very good way) that attempts to describe the maternal body, maternity, and life. I wish I had known about it sooner!