In They Are Sleeping, Joanna Klink tests the limits of solitude, setting her poems in places where our grip on “self” is loosened and blurred--caves, coastlines, rooms in cities. As her poems lead us through these sometimes beautiful, sometimes appalling internal landscapes, characters like the Hanged Man and the Lady of Situations reappear, often locked in misunderstanding but compelling us toward a more fragile and expansive sense of self.
Joanna Klink is an American poet. She was born in Iowa City, Iowa. She received an M.F.A. in Poetry from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and a Ph.D. in Humanities from Johns Hopkins University. She was the Briggs-Copeland Poet at Harvard University and for many years taught in the Creative Writing Program at The University of Montana. Her new book, THE NIGHTFIELDS, was published July 7, 2020 by Penguin Books.
Klink's style has a natural gravity to it, and it arranges the surrealist, character pieces so that they fit alongside the natural, landscaped poems. It's this fit that makes the book ambitious, but also difficult to piece together. Though I might understand, and have faith, that the pieces should go together, I'm not always sure of the motive behind it. The risk required to make these leaps (especially the one to "Monde, Demimonde," which I find the most jarring in the book) indicates confidence, and it makes me want to think through the intention further, it also detracts from what I think is a strong subterranean connection between this poet and the earth.
I read Klink’s first book last, which now seems wise, as I didn’t find a ton in it that would’ve encouraged me to read her subsequent collections. And I *love* those subsequent collections; they’re some of my favorite books of poetry, period. Maybe Klink was still trying things out and on in this first book, still easing her way into the water? Who’s to say. I don’t regret having read it, but I’m very grateful to know by what staggering volumes she surpasses herself here in her work to come.
Some poems I adored--especially the series of Aubades, and the gorgeous final poem, "The High Rooms." Each of those I read several times for the careful and lovely diction, the movement between strangeness and mystery into sudden clarity, the depth of feeling. I felt lost inside some of the other poems, though--unable to place myself, the speaker, the internal or external locations--really anything--and those left me frustrated and a bit disappointed.
Beautiful, enchanting, magical, glittery, surreal, self. All words that are brought to mind when reading this collection.
The book itself is so nice to hold and read through, made of beautiful textured paper and an illustration of The Hanged Man from the Tarot deck Ancient Minchiate Etruria.