Manuel Iris
Early in American Bitch, Rae Hoffman Jager ponders "How do you explain / that one puncture is all it takes / to make a vacuum," and throughout the collection we see those punctures pile up-in sexual violence, in unsustainable climate change, in the cruelty of men and the systems that reward that cruelty. But within all of this there is also the hope we will survive; despite what our own myths say about ourselves, the narrator tells her unborn child "You'll one day learn / too how to love something broken." Whether it's meditations on Judaism, football, or motherhood, Jager states "if I can celebrate anything, I will." And she does in this important new collection.
Erin Elizabeth Smith, author of Down
Rae Hoffman Jager's American Bitch is a love song to the unlikely pairing of mothering and football, a dirge against a warming/weirding planet, anti-Semitism, and the oppressive and ever-present patriarchy. In "Wreaked," Jager reminds us that "while we slept, made oatmeal ... a crack in the ice shelf grew eleven miles." These are ferociously tender and tenderly ferocious poems. We're reminded there are "razors in the bathroom, / bleach beneath the kitchen sink," but also cardinals to admire, a chance to "see who is wooing who, [to] count how many fragile talons can fit /on one branch." Cities are flooding and burning, "everything feels as heavy as a Magnolia Blossom's smell," yet there's the miracle of birth, a daughter who "came into this world fist first." Someone or something is always harshing her buzz, yet the speaker's determination to thrive is palpable: "I'll play the guitar. My daughter will shake a musical egg." American Bitch is the book to turn to as the droughts worsen and the seas rise.
Martha Silano
Related Subjects
Poetry