|Title||:||Inside Bone There's Always Marrow|
|Format Type||:||Unknown Binding|
|Number of Pages||:||30 Pages|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
Inside Bone There's Always Marrow Reviews
Of course, this review is going to be somewhat biased, i.e., in favor of the book because I know the author, Rachel Mallino. Of course, if I didn't think the book was good, I would just keep my mouth shut, not write anything at all. But the truth of it is, I've read the book three times now, and quite frankly it's damn good. Let's put it another way: The author disappears once I enter into the poetry. The words on paper are all that I have to navigate my thoughts. For such a short chapbook of some 26 pages, it's tightly put together. Each poem is meant to be in this book. This brings me to the conclusion that Mallino knows how to put a book together, that she didn't haphazardly cram all her eggs in one basket. She picked the best, the most polished of her work and laid them very carefully in the basket to showcase them. If I had to come up with one word to describe the work, I'd say, "raw." These poems are full of raw emotion, bared to the teeth, deeply painful and yet, startlingly removed, and eloquent in their removal. Of course, you'll have to purchase a copy for yourself to see what I mean.Sample Poem:Knuckle-boneI can round my jaw enough to pop my chewing gum without blowing a bubble. It reminds me of my mother’s knuckle-bone. The way it would snap out then retract throughout the day. I used to sink into the passenger seat, stare at her grip - hand to steering wheel, how the bone beneath her skin would jet back and forth as if exercising its powerin preparation for something heavy. At home, when she fastened gloves around fingers, scrubbed the bath-tub of its scum, I imagined her knuckle-bone rubbing raw against the squeak of protection, listened for bare skin sliding against rubber as she peeled back gloves then broke her hands free. That’s how I knew it was loose, swooping down like a bird'shardened claw, ready to connect bone to bone.
Rachel Mallino's slim collection of poems packs a real punch. Every poem grabs the reader so that he or she hangs on for dear life. Yes, I realize that I have already used two overused cliches to describe this wonderful chapbook -- but after reading Mallino's work, it's hard to find other words that do her poems justice. Every work seeks to explore the darkly mysterious emotions related to death, illness, and personal loss; yet others are strangely optimistic, brimming with hope and wonder. For instance, in "Aeronautics" the speaker "explores the ocean for one/of Christa McAuliffe's strands" while a grandmother mourns "not because cancer blew up in her mouth/but because I [the granddaughter:] had witnessed how things fall apart." Yet, later on in the collection the speaker in "How My Daughter Draws" marvels at her daughter's world of "triangles, boxes, circles -- the rooftop/someone's body, an animal's eye." For me, 2009 is fast becoming the year of the chapbook (I've read so many good collections), and you should add Mallino's book to your own personal reading list.
Terrific chap. I especially like the grandmother poems at the beginning, and "The Missing Season."