Like a beggar

In her fifth book of poetry, Bass addresses everything from Saturn's rings and Newton's law of gravitation to wasps and Pablo Neruda. Her words are nostalgic, vivid, and visceral. In contemplation of slaughtered chickens, a fly, jellyfish, and the thousand-pound heart of the blue whale, Bass arrives at the truth of human carnality rooted in the extraordinary need and promise of the individual. Through Bass' eyes, a pearly orchid is not unlike the milky thighs of a woman blood blooming through her veins and the thorax of the wasp expanding and contracting has the power to make us aware of our own shallow breath. In the exoskeleton of a wasp and in the earth that once fell ever so slightly . . . toward the apple, Bass shows us that we are as radiant as we are ephemeral, that in transience glistens resilient history and the remarkable fluidity of connection. By the collection's end following her musings on suicide and generosity, desire and repetition it becomes lucidly clear that Bass is not only a poet but also a philosopher and a storyteller.--Shemroske, Briana Copyright 2014 Booklist

"Bad things are going to happen," begins Bass (The Human Line), though she insists on giving praise despite that. In the post-Confessional tradition of Sharon Olds-with a backdrop of Rilke and Neruda-and populated with images both traditional (flowers, insects, fruit) and novel (Barbies and TV), Bass tries hard to convey everyday wonder on contemporary experiences of sex, work, aging, and war: "What if you felt the invisible/ tug between you and everything?" These poems-which contain statements as frankly narrative as "I'd just left my husband and come out as a lesbian"-chiefly function as memoir, holding Bass's personal experience to such importance that it raises the question of where in poetry is the line between introspection and naval-gazing? While the attempts are honest, the results are mixed, as when the social experiences of the speaker are lauded, while others are employed merely as metaphor for her: "When I get back in bed I find/ the woman who's been sleeping there/ each night for thirty years. Only she's not/ the same, her body more naked/ in its aging, its disorder. Though I still/ come to her like a beggar." Still, those who turn to poetry to become confidants for another's stories and secrets will not be disappointed. (Apr.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.