"I've never come across a book with the conceit of Boully's latest, which explicitly presents 'poetic failures,'—'embarrassments, short-comings, and all'—written over the course of many years, mostly in thrall to the existential condition she aptly terms 'pining.' Her conclusion, which comes after waves of diverse poetic experiments have crashed and receded, is that 'nothing written will bring love.' It is a wise and unusual finding in a book filled with delicacy and resilience."—Maggie Nelson
Jenny Boully is the author of four books, most recently not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them (Tarpaulin Sky Press). Her other books include The Books of Beginnings and Endings (Sarabande Books), [one love affair]* (Tarpaulin Sky Press), and The Body: An Essay (Essay Press, first published by Slope Editions). Her chapbook of prose,Moveable Types, was released by Noemi Press. Her work has been anthologized in The Best American Poetry, The Next American Essay, Great American Prose Poems: From Poe to the Present, and other places. Born in Thailand, she was reared in Texas by parents who farm and fish. She attended Hollins University, where she double majored in English and philosophy and then went on to earn her MA in English Criticism and Writing. At the University of Notre Dame, she earned an MFA with a poetry concentration. She earned a Ph.D. in English from the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. She lives in Chicago, Illinois with her husband and daughter and teaches at Columbia College Chicago.
"If I were a film-maker, I would scratch the emulsion, purposely plant light leaks, choose the rickety projector, skip the climax of the film, because I think you were possessed by an image, a symbol gliding through seaweed--a girl you find pretty but who is ugly & engaged." (21)
"Your farewell to attached to my pillow and the curtains are eyelet and the quilted coverlet is eyelet and the pillowcases are eyelet and the bedding is similarly of eyelet trim; nonetheless, there are no spies outside the window looking in. The dawn comes in like a gray starling." (27)
"Late June: We found a knife rack at the Goodwill, the one where I found the baseball shirt that I so loved... The first thing A. did when we got home was stick knives into the slits; I never wanted sex again." (48)
"imagining the paper butterflies that we will have accumulated over the years" (59)
"There are clouds, or no clouds, or bright clouds, or sometimes clouds, yellow and pink underbelly clouds." (78)
This book definitely is one of my favouite poetry books I have had the luxury of owning! It is messy, some poems seem un finished and others have guaranteed endings. It shows the journey of a women, growing in and out of love with herself and the people and things around her. It shows her failures and the beauty within them.
I loved Boully's not merely because of the unknown... and quite enjoyed [one love affair]*, so when I sat down to read of the mismatched teacups... I expected to enjoy what I read. I did not necessarily expect more of the same or even to be blown away, but I anticipated liking her work and closing the book with satisfaction. Unfortunately I was underwhelmed. The only thing I could think through the entire work was, "She's trying too hard." Perhaps that comes with her admission that many of these works were composed when she was much younger, and youth often tries too hard. Whatever the reason, I'm give this a shrug and a measly, "Meh."
I had honestly forgotten that I owned this book when I started reading Jenny Boully's newer work. Of course I started reading it right away when I noticed it. Writing is a process that shouldn't be hidden, so I loved that this included "failures" dating back to 1998. I wouldn't call them failures as much as steps to get to where Boully is now. If you're really interested in creative evolution, this is a book for you. This is a reminder that art is human.
A+ to Coconut for taking a risk with this collection.
"And the waitress who kept asking me for my order and my apologizing that I had yet to look at the menu and her coming back again and again and finally telling me, This is your last chance, and my inability even then to make a decision, to want anything badly enough.