by Anne Marie Rooney

The debut collection of poems by Anne Marie Rooney.See more details below


The debut collection of poems by Anne Marie Rooney.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“This book is propelled by hard, beautiful feelings: if the poems are hard in the sense of difficult, they are also made of beautiful, angular, and shining surfaces; their forte is the absence of sense, and the speaker of the poems is bawdy, elusive—the forms in which she writes do not contain an “I” to be understood and excavated, an interiority that gradually reveals itself. Instead, the poems reveal surfaces that are dense, self-reflective, and deliciously sensual; they do not demand that the reader delve into their depths. As Rooney says in the book’s title poem, “Language is hard. / It shines in your face.””—Rebecca van Laer, The Iowa Review

Product Details

Carnegie-Mellon University Press
Publication date:
Carnegie Mellon Poetry Series
Edition description:
New Edition
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.20(d)

What People are saying about this

Alice Fulton
"Of the word 'bride,' Anne Marie Rooney writes: 'It has clout and a thorn, a tender to its center.' The same could be said of these poems that weird the lyric into liminal states and imbue it with a powerful erotic charge. 'Every man / I've ever seen has seen me back. My eyes / sweat from it . . .' The sensibility—toughtalking, complex—charms and seduces in poems that figure the body as the ultimate domestic space. The body, what a place to live! is everywhere implied. Spitshine implodes with a pentimento of tones, noir to bright, and a list of the book's torqued forms—sonnet, prose poem, sestina—can't do justice to the poems' mordant, musical richness. Rooney also has her way with genre in a series of edgy pastorals and sexy elegies. Beyond pretty, her work foments an uncanny interiority, an untoward, bodice-ripping poetics of agency: 'I am unable to stay . . . anyone's kick-cat.' Trenchant, cheeky, the poems spit, and yes, shine with the singular glow of consciousness itself: '. . . Over fences my heart lifts / nothing and nothing at midnight is like it . . .' At once brazen and poignant, written in a hussified whiplash tongue, Rooney's poems create lushly oblique states of being and vex language into something ravishing and new."

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