Wade in the Water
-
- £5.99
-
- £5.99
Publisher Description
SHORTLISTED FOR THE FORWARD PRIZE FOR BEST COLLECTION 2018
A New York Times Notable Book of 2018
Even the men in black armor, the ones
Jangling handcuffs and keys, what else
Are they so buffered against, if not love's blade
Sizing up the heart's familiar meat?
In Wade in the Water, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Tracy K. Smith's signature voice - inquisitive, lyrical and wry - turns over what it means to be a citizen, a mother and an artist in a culture arbitrated by wealth, men and violence. The various connotations of the title, taken from a spiritual once sung on the Underground Railroad which smuggled slaves to safety in 19th-century America, resurface throughout the book, binding past and present together. Collaged voices and documents recreate both the correspondence between slave owners and the letters sent home by African Americans enlisted in the US Civil War. Survivors' reports attest to the experiences of recent immigrants and refugees. Accounts of near-death experiences intertwine with the modern-day fallout of a corporation's illegal pollution of a major river and the surrounding land; and, in a series of beautiful lyrical pieces, the poet's everyday world and the growth and flourishing of her daughter are observed with a tender and witty eye. Marrying the contemporary and the historical to a sense of the transcendent, haunted and holy, this is a luminous book by one of America's essential poets.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
History is in a hurry," writes Smith in her first collection since the Pulitzer-winning Life on Mars, and these lyrical meditations on class, environmental threat, and America's bloody heritage prove that the current U.S. poet laureate is plenty capable of keeping up with that "ship forever setting sail." Readers familiar with Smith's work will feel at home in "this dark where the earth floats." Some poems inhabit a more boldly theological space than does previous work, yet Smith's sense of the numinous stays appealingly grounded, as when she describes the "everlasting self" as "Gathered, shed, spread, then/ Forgotten, reabsorbed. Like love/ From a lifetime ago, and mud/ A dog has tracked across the floor." Whether presenting a sardonic erasure of the Declaration of Independence or dramatizing the correspondence between black Civil War soldiers and their wives, Smith nimbly balances lyricism and direct speech. In "Annunciation," she boldly states, "I've turned old. I ache most/ To be confronted by the real,/ the pitiless, the bleak." But a wry playfulness leavens her weightier concerns, and she leaves a small window open on her private self: "Flying home, I snuck a wedge of brie, and wept/ Through a movie starring Angelina Jolie." Smith remains a master whose technical skill enhances her emotional facilities, one ever able to leave readers "feeling pierced suddenly/ By pillars of heavy light."