Louise Glück

Richard Siken

Crush

every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.

Ana Belén

You, the moon. You, the road. You, the little flowers by the side of the road. You keep singing along to that song I hate. Stop singing.

[…] I will turn myself into a gun, because I'm hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me like the bullet was there, like it’s been waiting inside me the whole time. 

Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in? 

[…] and here is the center of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we can drink from, but I can't go through with it. I just don't want to die anymore. 

yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.

You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued. 

Here you are in the straw house, feeding the straw dog.

 Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently we have had our difficulties and there are many things I want to ask you.

Love, for you,/ is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s/ terrifying.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.

let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes, you know the story, simply heaven. 

Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. 

We’re shooting the scene where I swallow your heart and you make me/ spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls/ right out of my mouth./ You swallow my heart and flee, but i want it back now, baby i want it back.

the names of flowers that open only once,/ shouted from balconies, shouted from rooftops

Actually, you said, Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you. 

casey

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he's still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he's still left with his hands.

A collection of poems driven by obsession reveals a poetry that is at once confessional, graceful, and savage.

Nikas

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river

with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away

but then he’s still left with his hands.

sage lynn

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river / but then he’s still left / with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away / but then he’s still left with his hands.

I took several days to read this. It is a short book but a full collection. Still, it took me days. I do not think it is possible to read this in one seating without breaking something, without breaking a little. For some parts or rather for most of it, I had to slow down, take a breath, and reread. I’d go through one to two poems and call it a day. I do not think I am being dramatic in taking this route. I hope not. 

Moreover, for a lack of better words, the poems are visceral. I am new to poetry, in that this is the first poetry collection I have read in its entirety. I have favourite poems, of course. But anyways, I am not a connoisseur. Still, the poems reached me as violently visceral, especially in the third section. Almost like Siken had gone the David Lynch way of writing. Like he wrote sections, lines each on an index card, like how Lynch structures a scene, expands upon each, refines each and every one, and combines them by the end. Like a film. Some of the poems read like vignettes of a film, each line a scene flittering into each other. 

It is also visceral in the tenderest ways. I read that Siken had started writing this in his 20s. And continued to write from this perspective even when he was past the age. Maybe this is why it hit me so hard. The messiness of the 20s. The absolute drama and somehow ennui of it all which Siken perfectly captures. Though I confess I cannot comprehend all of it. Not to its full meaning. Largely due to the fact that I do not have this particular experience. Yet somehow, most of it registers. Which truly speak to Siken’s masterful writing.

Leontine

I took several days to read this. It is a short book but a full collection. Still, it took me days. I do not think it is possible to read this in one seating without breaking something, without breaking a little. For some parts or rather for most of it, I had to slow down, take a breath, and reread. I’d go through one to two poems and call it a day. I do not think I am being dramatic in taking this route. I hope not. 

Moreover, for a lack of better words, the poems are visceral. I am new to poetry, in that this is the first poetry collection I have read in its entirety. I have favourite poems, of course. But anyways, I am not a connoisseur. Still, the poems reached me as violently visceral, especially in the third section. Almost like Siken had gone the David Lynch way of writing. Like he wrote sections, lines each on an index card, like how Lynch structures a scene, expands upon each, refines each and every one, and combines them by the end. Like a film. Some of the poems read like vignettes of a film, each line a scene flittering into each other. 

It is also visceral in the tenderest ways. I read that Siken had started writing this in his 20s. And continued to write from this perspective even when he was past the age. Maybe this is why it hit me so hard. The messiness of the 20s. The absolute drama and somehow ennui of it all which Siken perfectly captures. Though I confess I cannot comprehend all of it. Not to its full meaning. Largely due to the fact that I do not have this particular experience. Yet somehow, most of it registers. Which truly speak to Siken’s masterful writing.

it’s good (esp the poems where grief is the strongest narrative) but all i can think of is my poetry workshop days from many years ago where everyone was trying to write like siken 😭 i think i would have liked this more if i read it earlier in life. also i did not know he’s gay. good for him! 

Ianna Chia

this was so heartbreakingly beautiful. atmospheric, raw, full of rage and love and guilt. resonated with me more than i thought it would. 

'with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because I'm hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting.' 

Anna 

this was so heartbreakingly beautiful. atmospheric, raw, full of rage and love and guilt. resonated with me more than i thought it would. 

. 

'with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because I'm hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting.' 

you are the fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.

when reading - novels, memoirs, poetry — sometimes, i struggle to truly feel and digest what it is that i am reading. these are stories that are personal, and i am stuck wondering if, although they are shared, it would be invasive to see myself in another persons words, another persons truths.

i can say i admired his storytelling, the visceral emotion within each line and paragraph; the imagery; the choice, or lack thereof. there is love and there is loss, pure happiness and regret. there are feelings that i couldn’t name, that are beyond me, but they are there and they are felt and maybe i feel them too in my own way. i have loved and i have lost, and maybe it’s not the same, but i’m not sure if the differences are that significant.

𝓒.

you are the fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.

when reading - novels, memoirs, poetry — sometimes, i struggle to truly feel and digest what it is that i am reading. these are stories that are personal, and i am stuck wondering if, although they are shared, it would be invasive to see myself in another persons words, another persons truths.

i can say i admired his storytelling, the visceral emotion within each line and paragraph; the imagery; the choice, or lack thereof. there is love and there is loss, pure happiness and regret. there are feelings that i couldn’t name, that are beyond me, but they are there and they are felt and maybe i feel them too in my own way. i have loved and i have lost, and maybe it’s not the same, but i’m not sure if the differences are that significant.

personal library, bought from books are magic brooklyn heights

Patricia K

kelsey

four stars

it crushed me.... but it was so good and i love how richard siken writes

Place holder for different book, which is the graphic novel Crush by Svetlana Chmakova which I gave a 5:5

amelia <3

Monicap

katrina montgomery

Maria

“You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.”

mr. siken has his unique way in formulating a captivating sentence that form a biblically accurate feelings of longing and yearning. this book made me feel things i never thought i could. it is such a personal read, like i am sucked into someone’s mind and i get to see all their monsters while i find my own monsters in them. overall brilliant.

🍁

𓆨

"You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together
to make a creature that will do what I say
or love me back."

i don't know much about poetry as i don't usually read much of it, but i quite enjoyed this. i appreciated the human character of the poems as well as the coherence of this piece as a whole.

"oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued."

Kendall McClain

Richy I love you so dearly but please leave me alone! 4.5 bc I still prefer war of the foxes but she slays and makes me sad and nostalgic for the tumblr days

Annika Arguemore

Do we mean something when we talk? HAHA OUCH

“…the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.”

i would not be the writer that i am now without mr. siken and this masterpiece of his. shaped me fr.

“…the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.”

i would not be the writer that i am now without mr. siken and this masterpiece of his. shaped me fr.

Crush

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