Storm Toward Morning
3/5
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About this ebook
"To be both visionary and accurate, true to physics and metaphysics at the same time, is rare and puts the poet in some rarefied company. Black, like a few other younger poets, is willing to include all the traditional effects of the lyric poem in his work, but he has set them going in new and lively ways, with the confidence of virtuosity and a belief in the ancient pleasures of pattern and repetition."—Mark Jarman, American Poet
Lush and daring, Malachi Black's poems in Storm Toward Morning press all points along the spectrum of human positions, from sickness, isolation, and insomniac disarray to serenity, wonder, and spiritual yearning. Pulsing at the intersections of "eye and I," body and mind, physical and metaphysical, Black brings distinctive voice, vision, and music to matters of universal mortal concern.
Query on Typography
What is the light
inside the opening
of every letter: white
behind the angles
is a language bright
because a curvature
of space inside
a line is visible
is script a sign
of what it does
or does not occupy
scripture the covenant
of eye and I
with word or what
the word defines
which is source
and which is shrine
the light of body
or the light behind?
Malachi Black holds a BA in literature from New York University and an MFA in creative writing from the University of Texas at Austin’s Michener Center for Writers. His poems have appeared in AGNI, Boston Review, Ploughshares, and Poetry. He currently teaches at the University of San Diego and lives in California.
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Reviews for Storm Toward Morning
2 ratings1 review
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Echoes of Rilke and Eliot resound in this well crafted debut collection. There is a deal of great sound here, and successful, mind blowing rhyme. I am not very keen on rhyme in free verse, but Malachi Black knows what he's doing. Some frank but lyrical meditations on mortality, death, and God in the vein of the aforementioned. This is the best individual collection of poems I have read in years and I can't wait for his next book.
Book preview
Storm Toward Morning - Malachi Black
I
Under an Eclipsing Moon
I am the black strokes on the baby grand
piano in whose hands I am tonight
beside the hospital, a yellow gram
of Valium with me in the bright
side of this house behind a darkened high
school baseball diamond. Here it’s too dim,
too overcast to know what sort of slim
lip the moon has grooved into the sky.
So what can I, whose veins are purpled through
with bits of broken glass and vodka,
whose heart claps like a shoe, what can I do
but play a drunken, pill-induced sonata,
watch it backflip and rebound, caterwauling
in a somersault of sound around the room?
Traveling by Train
And faster past another frozen river,
the brambles, shrubs, and underbrush of dead
woods and the garbage that was left behind
by runaways and skunks: the plastic bags
and twine, shoes beside forgotten brands
of beer whose cans, so battered by the weather,
have all but disappeared—like the whiteness
of a smoke after it’s cleared. And you’ve been on
this train too long to know the time: you’re lost
between the meter and the desperate rhyme
of clacking tracks. Home is nothing here.
You’re gone and in the going; can’t come back.
Insomnia & So On
Fat bed, lick the black cat in my mouth
each morning. Unfasten all the bones
that make a head, and let me rest: unknown
among the oboe-throated geese gone south
to drop their down and sleep beside the out-
bound tides. Now there’s no nighttime I can own
that isn’t anxious as a phone
about to ring. Give me some doubt
on loan; give me a way to get away
from what I know. I pace until the sun
is in my window. I lie down. I’m a