Dorianne Laux

A collection of new and selected works from a prize-winning poet known to bear compassionate and ruthless witness to the quotidian.

New and Selected Poems

Only as the Day Is Long

While the book offers some striking imagery, its focus on physical trauma feels excessive. The narrative lacks sufficient redemptive elements or clear paths to healing, potentially making it unsuitable for readers with traumatic experiences. The heavy emphasis on traumatic events without adequate exploration of recovery or growth left me unsatisfied.

Liana

kaitlan

4.5? (Edit: No, 5 stars for sure. I mean, I took pictures of almost all the poems to keep on my phone LOL)

if there was one word to describe dorianne laux’s poetry, i would say “raw.” (or “gritty”.) and in the best possible way! i imagine her writing in the dark, seated at a hardwood desk with a well-loved fountain pen, reflecting on her life. 

she reminds me of sharon olds a little bit in the way she documents desire—it’s so real and human and very much spoken from experience. that is, i feel like this collection could only be written by someone who has experienced their fair share of life. i suppose in that way the poems can be described as very middle-age, and thus so honest, wise, sure, and quietly insistent. 


Kissing

They are kissing, on a park bench,
on the edge of an old bed, in a doorway
or on the floor of a church. Kissing
as the streets fill with balloons
or soldiers, locusts or confetti, water
or fire or dust. Kissing down through
the centuries under sun or stars, a dead tree,
an umbrella, amid derelicts. Kissing
as Christ carries his cross, as ahha di
sings his speeches, as a bullet
careens through the air toward a child’s 
good heart. They are kissing,
long, deep, spacious kisses, exploring
the silence of the tongue, the mute
rungs of the upper palate, hungry
for the living flesh. They are still
kissing when the cars crash and the bombs
drop, when the babies are born crying
into the white air, when Mozart bends
to his bowl of soup and Stalin
bends to his garden. They are kissing
to begin the world again. Nothing
can stop them. They kiss until their lips
swell, their thick tongues quickening
to the budded touch, licking up
the sweet juices. I want to believe
they are kissing to save the world,
but they’re not. All they know
is this press and need, these two-legged
beasts, their faces like roses crushed
together and opening, they are covering
their teeth, they are doing what they have to do
to survive the worst, they are sealing
the hard words in, they are dying
for our sins. In a broken world they are
practicing this simple and singular act
to perfection. They are holding
onto each other. They are kissing.

Only as the Day Is Long New and Selected Poems

Reviews