Written in narrow sections that blur the distinction between flash fiction and prose poetry, between memoir and meditation, Monograph veers from the elliptical to the explosive as it dissects the Gordian knot of a marriage's intellectual, sexual, and domestic lives. Invoking Raymond Chandler, Pythagoras, Joan Didion, and Virginia Woolf as presiding spirits, Simeon Berry curates the negative space of each wry tableau, destabilizing the high seriousness of every lyric aside and slipping quantum uncertainty into the stark lineaments of loss.
Written in narrow sections that blur the distinction between flash fiction and prose poetry, between memoir and meditation, Monograph veers from the elliptical to the explosive as it dissects the Gordian knot of a marriage's intellectual, sexual, and domestic lives. Invoking Raymond Chandler, Pythagoras, Joan Didion, and Virginia Woolf as presiding spirits, Simeon Berry curates the negative space of each wry tableau, destabilizing the high seriousness of every lyric aside and slipping quantum uncertainty into the stark lineaments of loss.
The 2014 National Poetry Series selection, chosen by Denise Duhamel
SIMEON BERRY has been an associate editor for Ploughshares, and won a Massachusetts Cultural Council Individual Artist Grant and a Career Chapter Award from the National Society of Arts and Letters. His first book, Ampersand Revisited, won the 2013 National Poetry Series. He lives in Somerville, Massachusetts.
After inhaling Simeon Berry’s latest collection (and his second
National Poetry Series win!), I admit I am a total sucker for the
monograph (a detailed study of one relatively narrow topic), and
Berry’s monographic treatment of his particular topic—which I
absolutely will not give away here—in particular. If you enjoyed
Maggie Nelson’s Bluets and Eula Biss’s The Balloonists, you will
love Berry’s Monograph: obsessive, prismed, wise, shameless—a whole
treatise of desire formatted into tiny succulent prose poems or
lyrical fictions or bites or bits or installments or glances or
confessions: a collage of lovely and disturbing threads. I simply
could not put it down.
*author of Fibonacci Batman: New and Selected Poems
(1991–2011)*
With Monograph, Simeon Berry has found a new and compelling way of
doing what presents, rather slyly, as autobiography. By turns
acerbic, self-mocking, and gently witty, this book is made of
lucid, startling sequences of squibs, or tabs, of narrative
fragment about sex, love, family, books, and writing. Mostly what I
wanted to do in this blurb was quote my favorite bits—look at this,
look at this—but there are too many of them. Smart detail, sudden
skids, Big Questions, casual idiomatic precision: Monograph has all
of these, but I think it’s the quality of Berry’s attention that is
most arresting of all. A book of wit and heart.
*author of My Brother is Getting Arrested Again*
Monograph is one poet's primary research on all things love--the
erotic, the domestic, love's glory, and its accompanying rage.
Simeon Berry's voice is irresistibly authentic, even at its most
crafty. . . . 'There are things I've done to make the story better
. . . the girl with the skull-and-crossbones hearing aid. . . .'
This poet writes what everyone else (or, at least, many of us) are
thinking regarding the morality of memoir. 'All these things are
open secrets. She wants you to feel like you're handing over the
nuclear launch codes or something.' Smart and also wise, Berry's
poems are stripped bare of ornamentation and read like columns of
pure light.
*Denise Duhamel*
Do you enjoy the idea of New England fishermen who cannot swim? I
do very much. 'These are the people I come from,' Simeon Berry
writes early on, and proceeds to show us a man whose intelligence
is the raft he clings to as his relationship falls apart. I like
this too – 'my brain is my business' – because it’s so simply and
oddly true: whatever a poet writes about, the real subject is the
poet’s mind. And I'm surprised and entertained by the mind that
shows up on these pages. There’s a quality of invention here I
love, the feeling of wonderful traffic between what’s real and
what’s made up, from a poet who understands that the self is, in
large part, a mythology we create. This is a fun, weird, and
quietly harrowing book. I hope one of many to come.
*Bob Hicok*
By turns hardcore and hilarious, reading Monograph is like
experiencing the minutiae and mythology of a long-term relationship
through the slits of a zoetrope: the inside jokes, the ghosts, the
tics and tantrums that make us fall in and out of love. A sly
treatise on gender relationships and literary disclosure, this book
will slap you, pet you, tell you it’s sorry, it will never do it
again, but it will. I never wanted it to stop.
*Karyna McGlynn*
Berry has the gift of making us feel his thoughts and they are
compellingly tart with a margin of sweetness. He’s the crafter of
exquisitely brief messages creating relationships and situations
seen through portals.
*Washington Independent Review of Books*
Berry’s are definitely not ‘clunky avant-garde poems,’ and his work
must be praised for its readability, its accessibility, the
enjoyability of traversing this collection. The speaker’s tone
welcomes readers, inviting them in for tea, biscuits and some minor
reflections on catastrophe. The narrow margins set on the prose
strophes make them a visual delight, and the eye gobbles them. But
these poems are not merely pleasurable on the surface. Though they
never hold the reader at a distance via their intellect, they are
quite smart poems, filled with philosophical and religious debates,
and peppered with allusions ranging from Raymond Chandler to Joan
Didion to Leonard Cohen.
*The Literary Review*
Monograph is a testament to the fine line between poetry and prose.
If we are afraid of sinking into everyday speech, Berry tells us
that the sinking is okay. He demonstrates poetic attention to
everyday life. Berry’s poetry is teaching us that how we pay
attention to life can make our observations poetry. . . . His
method is no accident; his poems produce a record of love that
revels in the life of the imagination necessary to it.
*Los Angeles Review of Books*
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