Saturday poetry pick: Lucie Brock-Broido

For this week’s poetry pick, I’ve been reading Lucie Brock-Broido’s new collection, Stay, Illusion.

Post-modern lyric or stream-of-consciousness? These poems focus on the image and offer up a palette for the palate–a banquet made of small, exquisite tastes. One bite leads to the next. Each explodes with flavors. The poems engage me as a reader and even lead me to question my role as a reader. In the interim between each image, the space between each line, I can try to conjure a world, connect the flavors. Or I can allow each sumptuous line to wash over me.


Meditation on the Sources of the Catastrophic Imagination” begins:

Green as alchemy and even more scarce, little can be known
of the misfortunes of a saint condemned to turn great sorrows

Into greater egrets, ice-bound and irrevocable. The wings were left ajar

How not to keep reading?

Or “Extreme Wisteria“:

On abandon, uncalled for but called forth.

The hydrangea of her crushed each year a little more into the attar of herself.

Pallid. Injured. Wild in ecstasy. A throat to come home to, tupelo.

Perhaps I do these poems an injustice by trying to excerpt them. Better to read them whole. Even though I might be missing the most obvious, as in “For a Clouded Leopard in Another Life” or “In Owl Weather.”

The links I could find give you just a hint; Stay, Illusion, a feast.

It’s been a rich week.