Bøger i Osu Journal Award Poetry serien

Through language both reverent and reckless, Katie Condon''s debut collection renders the body a hymn. Praying Naked is Eden in the midst of the fall, the meat of the apple sweet as sex. In this collection, God is a hopeless and dangerous flirt, mothers die and are resurrected, and disappointing lovers run like hell for the margins. With effortless swagger and confessional candor, Condon lays bare the thrill of lust and its subsequent shame. In poems brimming with "the desire / to be desired" by men, by God, by lovers'' other women, by oneself, she renders a world in which wildflowers are coated in ash and dark bedrooms flicker with the blue light of longing. The speaker implores like an undressed wound: "is it wrong to feel a hurt kind of beautiful?" Ecstatic and incisive, Praying Naked is a daring sexual and spiritual reckoning by a breathtaking new poet.

Shadeland is not only the name of the Illinois farm on which poet Andrew Grace was raised, it is also that elusive space where language attempts to recover all that has been lost. Deeply concerned with the state of today''s rural spaces, Grace''s poems describe a landscape and a lifestyle that are both eroding. Stylistically rangy, yet united by an ardent eye for intricate imagery, Shadeland features allusions and influences as classical as Homer, Virgil, and Hopkins while still exhibiting a poetic sensibility that is thoroughly contemporary. Employing a blend of baroque and innovative language, these 21st-century pastorals and anti-pastorals both celebrate and elegize the buckshot-peppered silos and unstill cornfields that are quietly vanishing from the countryside.

Sometimes June in Eden occupies a garden in a wild landscape. Other times, we''re given a terrain where the coveted tree is one that hides a cell tower, where lungs are likened to ATMs and prayers are sent via text message. Rosalie Ruth Moffett''s debut collection of poetry, June in Eden, questions the human task of naming in a time where there are "new kinds of war that keep / changing the maps," where little mistakes-preying or praying, for instance-are easily made. The heart of this book is an obsession with language, its slippages and power, what to do when faced with the loss of it. "Ruth," says our speaker, is "a kind of compassion / nobody wants anymore-the surviving half / of the pair of words is ruthless." There is, throughout this collection, a dark humor, but one that belies a tenderness or wonder, our human need to "love the world / we made and all its shadows."Rosalie Moffett''s June in Eden gives us a speaker bewildered by and in awe of the world: both the miracles and failures of technology, medicine, and imagination. These darkly humorous poems are works of grief and wonder and give us a landscape that looks, from some angles, like paradise. 

A novella in verse, Radioapocrypha envisions what would have happened if Jesus Christ had arrived for the first time not in Palestine two thousand years ago but in a subdivision in Maryland in 1989, the year Depeche Mode released "Personal Jesus." In this suburban retelling of the gospel, Jesus is a hunky post-punk high school chemistry teacher and the disciples are a twelve-member garage band. The story unfolds as recorded testimony and overheard teachings, a series of alternating lyric poems, prose poems, and parables that engage the social, sexual, and racial tensions of an era. Told from the point of view of the Magdalen character, named Maren-and drawing from the Gnostic text known as the Gospel of Mary as well as other scriptural sources-these poems sample widely from popular music and 1980s culture to recast and revivify a gritty, surreal, crackpot story of loners, losers, and lovers.

In her new poetry collection, Lethal Theater, Susannah Nevison reckons with the rituals of violence that underpin the American prison system, both domestically and abroad. Exploring the multiple roles of medicine in incarceration, Nevison's poems expose the psychological and physical pain felt by the prison system's inhabitants. Nevison asks readers to consider the act and complications of looking-at the spectacle of punishment, isolation, and interrogation, as mapped onto incarcerated bodies-by those who participate in and enforce dangerous prison practices, those who benefit from the exploitation of incarcerated bodies, and those who bear witness to suffering. Unfolding in three sections, Nevison's poems fluidly move among themes of isolation and violence in prisons during period of war, the history of medical experimentation on domestic prisoners, and the intersection between anesthesia used in hospital settings and anesthesia used in cases of lethal injection. Lethal Theater is an attempt to articulate and make visible a grotesque and overlooked part of American pain.

Fashioned at the intersection of imagination and experience, The River Won't Hold You interrogates loneliness and loss with quiet insistence.