Aggregate of Disturbances (Iowa Poetry Prize) by Michele Glazer

By Michele Glazer

Right here, the writer confronts the slipperiness of language and conception as she probes common techniques - the lives of bugs, the uncertainty of affection and the deaths of people. The poems negotiate among hope for whatever irrefutable and an uneasy bedrock of paradox.

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Extra info for Aggregate of Disturbances (Iowa Poetry Prize)

Example text

The body fuses, grows diffuse and the flesh makes its own topography indifferent to muscle and bone. Now when he must be turned she turns him. Everything gets stacked and there are new creases. The body makes its own weather, odor. The way fog settles in. Until a clumsiness ensues, that movement should emerge from amplitude. What space there is between the parts is half a whisper, a rubbing when he walks, when he could walk. Now anything he wants must come to him for he can’t meet it. She thinks what she can do for him.

In the chapel in drifted rows — and only the icon was looked on for if we were too, why wouldn’t I know it? That I might wander into longing what would you spend? remark? — to keep unfilled? I would not mind the taking measure. Or leave without recalling why the single white spirea bent beyond its own doubling by the gray wall by the rain that filled whatever cavity allowed it in that night. Nor break by weight of what by some account is shaken out.  Moon Casings The full moon is not beautiful and the headaches when her head was bent that way proved matter less stable than we thought.

He scrounged in his pockets and sweated in the heat of his own overabundant apologies to the shuffling line growing at his back. How it ended & went on — He lifted the utensil to his mouth, opening his mouth. The mouth was open already in anticipation: parted: between the arm that raised the fork and the mouth that parted an understanding passed: receiving: this  is the body’s function because something’s always leaving. Like them he’s in the first person. Constructed of consequence and as if that’s not enough he can see it in the garden, in how the blossomburdened floribunda understands extravaganza, post- mortem.

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