
Playlist for the Apocalypse: Poems
A piercing, unflinching new volume offers necessary music for our tumultuous present, from “perhaps the best public poet we have” (Boston Globe). In her first volume of new poems in twelve years, Rita Dove investigates the vacillating moral compass guiding America’s, and the world’s, experiments in democracy. Whether depicting the first Jewish ghetto in sixteenth-century Venice or the contemporary efforts of Black Lives Matter, a girls’ night clubbing in the shadow of World War II or the doomed nobility of Muhammad Ali’s conscious objector stance, this extraordinary poet never fails to connect history’s grand exploits to the triumphs and tragedies of individual lives. Meticulously orchestrated and musical in its forms, Playlist for the Apocalypse collects a dazzling array of voices: an elevator operator simmers with resentment, an octogenarian dances an exuberant mambo, a spring cricket philosophizes with mordant humor on hip hop, critics, and Valentine’s Day. Calamity turns all too personal in the book’s final section, “Little Book of Woe,” which charts a journey from terror to hope as Dove learns to cope with debilitating chronic illness. At turns audaciously playful and grave, alternating poignant meditations on mortality and acerbic observations of injustice, Playlist for the Apocalypse takes us from the smallest moments of redemption to catastrophic failures of the human soul. Listen up, the poet says, speaking truth to power; what you’ll hear in return is “a lifetime of song.”
Reviews

Lindsay@schnurln
Highlights

Lindsay@schnurln
There are spaces for living and spaces for forgetting. Sometimes they’re the same.
- "Voiceover"

Lindsay@schnurln
Believers slaughter their doubters while the greedy oil their lips with excuses and the righteous turn merciless; the merciful, mad.
- "Beside the Golden Door"

Lindsay@schnurln
if I am to become a heavenly body I would like to be a comet a streak of spitfire consuming itself before a child’s upturned wonder
- "Sketch for Terezin"

Lindsay@schnurln
I work a lot and live far less than I could, but the moon is beautiful and there are blue stars . . . . I live the chaste song of my heart.
- Federico García Lorca to Emilia Llanos Medina Nov 25, 1920

Lindsay@schnurln
Most often she couldn’t think— which is to say she thought of everything, and at once—
- "Lucille, Post-Operative Years"