“Kazim Ali’s newest collection of poems is brilliant and chilling and filled with sound. The Voice of Sheila Chandra is alive with formal invention and innovation that will surely be a fixture in contemporary poetry for years to come. Part researched document, part song, part deep excavation of the soul, there is much to learn from this book. Ali forces us to contend with history & the present in order to imagine a future where we survive.”
—sam sax
pre-order here
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reflections at {isacoustic*] on other works by Kazim Ali:
http://isacoustic.com/2018/06/29/silver-road-essays-maps-calligraphies-kazim-ali/
http://isacoustic.com/2018/03/19/inquisition-poems-kazim-ali/
~
fromanimal masks on the floor of the ocean
long gone are the insects
you forgave
this storm, the whale
of oblivion’s
white feast, this moon
the word
moon
*
I go places
in my ghost
that are children
when I arrive. they call me
high grass, lord
of the wind’s
blood. most of them
have lost
babies
with dog
names
to birth
or touch, our brief
attractions
to déjà vu
*
to be unthought of is to be one more person away from pain. no cricket you hear is alone. in my boy’s drawing of jesus, the ears are all wrong. his first sad poem is about an oven. his second calls dust the blood of a seashell. his third is so terrible that I tell my friends I’m just a gravedigger who wants to open a hair salon. my friends they are made of grief and brilliance…
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like everyone else
I only smoke
at funerals
sleep and death
bathing
in a me-shaped
emptiness
were never seen
by the same
ghost
when an animal
reading
dies
Mother an ache through which has rolled a hula hoop
Father a broken tv
missed by lightning
Eye a longing, a spoonful of milk
On a blue
arm
a mosquito
born in god’s
erasable
kiss.
A clown
so early
to the unmoving
dog.
Most movies
are hidden
by sleep.
newborns
playing tag
in a dream
kingsoftrain 