The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish (Phoenix Poets)

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There are many reasons to read this book, including the magnificent title poem. But the main reason is the long sequence entitled "Rock Creek," a passionate, fertile intertwining of the poet's voice with that of Whitman's journals. The effect is exhilarating in its lyric leaps and lists, its overlay of past and present, and the depth of seeing that fills these pages with eloquent elegiac beginnings.

Weiner has long been regarded as a poet of formal precision; he does not divert from that baselin There are many reasons to read this book, including the magnificent title poem. Weiner has long been regarded as a poet of formal precision; he does not divert from that baseline but rather enlarges it into an organic wilderness packed with discoveries. Oct 20, Jeff rated it it was amazing.

List of hybrid creatures in folklore

Abu Ghraib and the digital archive are in the backdrop and proceeding lines. Weiner shrewdly raises, throughout this volume, the shifting linguistic stakes in our image-making practice.

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He is neither over-impressed by the romance of poetry's address to the image-world, nor unwilling to venture into that vortex that is -- as Olson had it -- "in the cut" of an image-obsessed culture. The book is hemmed-round in attention, intelligence, and poise.

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Aug 15, Kim rated it it was amazing Shelves: This book is a massive leap in a new direction for Joshua Weiner. While he hasn't lost any of his ability to write formal poems reminiscent of Thom Gunn, something very new happens in this collection, which is one of the best and most ambitious I've read. The long poem, Rock Creek II sets a new bar for what the form can do. Weiner recovers the fragments of history while deeply engaging the question of how one's present subjectivity is informed by this hidden past.

The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish by Joshua Weiner

Throughout the collection, th This book is a massive leap in a new direction for Joshua Weiner. Throughout the collection, these meditations are both touching and troubling, ranging from Fugazi to Guantanamo to fatherhood. Line and sound are exquisite, and I'm often reminded of Niedecker and Oppen. I think will be one of the standout collections of the 21st century and beyond. Read it without delay!

Jun 30, Liam rated it liked it. Why do academics produce boring poetry? Ending the night's long journey her short story Patterns of hair block the flow: Cooking smoke waves to the afternoon sun: Chilly night no soul on the road guard at gate Welcoming the sun dew drops on dry leaves-- an epitaph After the walk two women relax on bench exchanging tensions After cleaning the maid leaves behind an oily smell A tiny spider on the marigold sucking its golden hue Seeking its roots around oleander leaves custard-apple A Christ crucified with the violence of music in the hall After the party empty chairs in the lawn new moon and I A dead voice calling up at dawn: Such a wild change in the mirror beside her- I look a stranger Stoops to set pleats of her saree mid-August Meeting her once and so much love in one night to last the whole life Each sun aggravates sadness moment by moment: Narrowly escape the midair web of spider perched on hibiscus After extraction he gives me my old tooth list of drugs and new bill Collecting fallen twigs on road half -clad women Palms waving to greet the first rain of the season: I wait in the room Craving for a lick of the salt on her skin to become one with her Desire for diamond dies with price I can't afford: Wish I could be part of the quietude this morning: Between virgin curves he deep-breathes evening mist rests in the hollow A load of wood on her frail back autumn evening Their shadows dissolve and reappear walking along the river On a cycle he sells bouquets and roses peddling dreams A watchman gazes the stars on her body elements clack Alone on the platform wait for the train swatting mosquitoes Scars of existence- wintry sun and chilly night crouching on footpath A dead man couldn't keep standing- lies in dust Knocking emptiness I cross the valleys within now stand at stone gate Love's beauty happening in the soul God presence Silence of class test occasion for haiku thoughts lost in lecture To give voice to stone he chisels the soul-image Krishna plays the flute A lamp on the river— the breast in bridal grace waving in the gloaming In the spring sun the lone pomegranate tree smiling with buds The blue-white dapples on the canvass seeing the eye of silence The mirror is so small I can't see the ocean beyond my own look Silent Ram sheds tears over the bodies burnt in temple's name Violence breeders climb power ladder- peace stings Tears invisible on his water face Buddha meditates Through long shadows in the morning remembering gradual death After the 'plane bomb stuck between concrete rubbles a mother and child In the naked grave some flesh still clings to the bones: Lost in black box he searches love to live- smoulders in ash They still bomb lands for peace repeat August 6 They kill and hide in mosques pray, in fear kill more, and flee To hunt the hunters flames mate with flames- touch the sky Her presence- alien sensation in my veins In my courtyard swoop neem, peepal, cheeku leaves: Between her fingers and lips swaying some puffed rice Still fresh in the hanky's fold- jasmine Soft footsteps of students bunking class test Her smile arrival of spring at the bower A butterfly restless over the other trying to console Ahead of us-- racing hyacinths in the river Two lizards inside the switchboard turned on Two of us at the waterfall spraying love The whole night waiting for the train running late drowsy sunrise The night queen fragrance seeps in from the windows my bedroom blooms She snuggles up in my arms her dimples joy of heaven Her birth- a poem dancing in the eyes Swirling spiral of her skirt spills tides of dream and memory Echoes of night song flutter our embrace in bed: Drowsy day waning sex and love- seasonal trick Unattached- drop of water on lotus leaf Baked and cracked the sugarcane field melts into mud Receding winter leaves behind allergies One more year hanged with calendar- a new god Picking at a dead frog on the road- a crow A crow picks at cow's back in the afternoon- drooping rag-picker Green velvet from gate to door- monsoon end A moving train- confined in water bottle rhythmic ripplets Two toads croaking in the drain celebrate sudden shower Chased by a cat a rat sinking into the sand Sculpturing psyche in the city of dumb dreams: Elements clack in the small house shudder the harp and strings God, the first victim in the divided city: Basking in the past they grow backward and yet talk about the future Tattooed on her back a nude exhibits a nude- FTV model Cut wrongly each body a slave- grey faces Tainted tongues weave mazes to stop birth of light Continuing after ejaculation-- anti-climax Her wet lingerie reveals more than her body— I drown in her sea A stray sperm grows in the ovum blooms as puffball Winter chill- her face grows more wrinkles I see a finger point to the eye in her breast mist lingers on lips No letters today- addresses of his dead friends greying in diary With changing weather they look for sun and shade both: She resents remembering allah in her car In the class test etching nudes on the desk two late comers Night bombing oleander garden white as death Vultures waiting for the remains of sacrifice on the temple tree Seeking for the white of the sky in your closed eyes It's still overcast fumes rise from smouldering ashes- terrorists' attack On a marble grave mating sparrows celebrate peace in cemetery So much night around the street light- no one's safe Heat wave burns and blows the withered nests whole night birds wail searching for shades In the AC room last night's coldness continues: Clad in swimsuit her body in water sweeps waltzing ripplets He sees the world through the light of the body with single eye Bedside- our night clothes await washing It still lingers like the taste of stale love last night: Joy of union reduces as rhythm falls: She hides the mirror with rose and lipstick and keeps her fiction Reshuffling the shelves it's only dust, in alleys sneezing scholarship Gentle breaths prick cheek and chest unclinging looking away She undresses in dim light perfumes her body fills room with herself Love waves rise and fall between our shores of soul drinking each other's sea Shouting at her-- the breakfast aggravates fire in the throat The lone mushroom- - a pregnant woman stares out of the window After dinner leaves a freezing banana on the bed Moving shadows in the silence of the room- windows rattle Hungry eyes rest on their graffiti on the desk Face hidden at the window hear known voices Facing the sun the lone flower dying to bloom After the sunset wheels of a returning cart along the paddy Unmoved by the wind he sits on a rock wearing peace of the lake Unable to see his pale shadow reeling through vapour of the earth Night washes the sky-- the sun brings morning freshness to my window After days of depressing rains golden orb Her frisky bounce like snakebird springing its head in water preying Her eyes flash in dark the eel slides into her cave I watch the mirror They take off again their un thrown nets frighten fish- water turns whiter Storms circling within love is vision in action blue dot in deep space Sound turns fainter with greying geometry a rusted sign Hope in hidden words the invisible essence nearer dawn's glory The mountain doesn't know the river flows through its skin now stains memory Filling emptiness of the room with ikebana A fly flying in IC free of cost On a sheet of ice the chick trying to free itself from its mother's claws Two souls celebrate sailing on flames of white light new millennium The lone hibiscus waits for the sun to bloom: Rain-soaked sun sheds its sultry light-- her bare back Dew drop on a blade of grass rainbow A child's fingers feel the butterfly lying one with yellow leaves Shell -shocked or frozen he stands in tears on hilltop craving nirvana A dead leaf hangs by a spider's thread invisible in sun Staring at each other two fishes in half -filled tank ready for truce Only two of us- and a big house with roaming rats and cockroaches Meditation cell phone rings love echoes No god appears in the dark of my closed eyes— dream-image falters The little toddler with her fey appearance: Seeking good news I watch the lines on my palms taking new turns We meet again in the album ever fresh her memory Tending the hooks she blushes to see the line of jewels The half moon on her neck reminds of love before departure Her trilling laugh on the phone- spring love Falling leaves-- a sheet of autumn in the courtyard They all look for a little more moon coming back from movie Waves of mist shine with sun the day resumes laughter shakes each bough Fearing allergies he misses full moon party savours white light After morning walk the trio gossip each day fresh revelation The holy Ganges tolerates the city's garbage even rape and death Greeting the first rains after months of soaring heat-- the lone mango falls Exploring the world in haiku silence God an event The string of life lost in the knots of small things: Sweeping gelled leaves they raise dust in my compound agitate windpipe The lone letter box rusting in rain for years none come to open Prolonged rains keep dahlias from blooming- seeds die again Shining on rose-leaves silken layer of dew drops: Chilly wind slaps the window panes closed to keep cross-legged couples warm Cloud over cloud darken earth and hide stars: Red oleander and hibiscus calling morning to Kali Making love she presses with her nails: After lunch stretching legs in cubby-hole: Love tickles with erect pistil: Without washing hands he touches hibiscus for worship: After little rain lilies smile with hibiscus- the sun in May Too short can't reach the height: Around falling leaves a lone dreaming flower- mid-February 9.

Stands alone in the assembly of flowers- Valentine' s Day Not sad to die blooming after a day's rain- the mushroom A frog in the drain stares at the traffic light turning green December morning — the first roses in the lawn: Leaves sway to fly like birds free in the sky Waving down a leaf settles between her breasts All night trees wave with roaring winds: Bluebells and hazels lost in rustic kisses: On a lean branch of neem swinging a bulbul The courtyard stormed with dried leaves and tamarind: From tree to courtyard cotton balls blown on the wind- seed in the centre Her scarf — a rainbow of flowers moving in the sky Her visit — a transient painting on holiday's floor Painting mom's smile with broken crayons — smiling Winny Intruding her voice on the phone Switching on the hearing aid: With her saree hitched up between the legs my wife in bed Raising her saree above the thighs bends to ease and blocks my way Rising early to make tea for everyone the newly wed wife As the duo sit lights go out — sofa springs creaking Dissatisfied with each other the two of us in an empty house In the grey of dusk sway between hope and despair their dream promises Leaning sideways she looks at mango picklt caries ache She repeats my ills to express her anger but I know only her love Basking in the sun files nails in garden chair my wife's friend No joy in lighting the candles this Diwali: Awaits his son's phone call from the border: His son's voice not relayed by wire: Distance mounts each time he visits home: Shadow of age on the wall — second full moon Whiteness of the moon and rocks howl with the wind- December in the veins The sun not yet set but the full moon rises as if in a hurry Enveloping all of the moon at night- white chrysanthemums Setting moon leaves behind sparkle on the waves Noisy birds don't let me sleep: Through the window gaze at the moon hid behind cloud after cloud Caressing her pregnant belly — water lily Still night nude kisses in park images haunt Standing behind the window bars observes darkness in shapes Night bombing leaves the garden white as death Vultures waiting for the leftovers of the sacrifice In the ruins searching her photo: Rutting dogs sleepless the whole night cries for sex Parents pelt stones at the mating street dogs- nosey children Nothing changes the night's ugliness in the lone bed Alone in a shrunken bed aged love In the well studying her image a woman Knitting silence my wife on the bench after lunch The lone mushroom — a pregnant woman stares out of the window Under the tree in meditation sunken a lone stone Alone on the National Highway Hanuman So many headlights and my myopic vision- walking difficult They walk on red coal matching steps with drum-beats: Keeps him sleepless fireworks and high decibel puja all night Sleeping on the cold floor a mother with child Awaits sunrise to hire an auto safely sits at the bus stand Two women argue over price and weight offish: Carbon flakes drift high above the flat I cough they widen the roads Burning tap water and seething house in the morning heat wave cripples Chanting mantra with wine in one hand and torch in other Building bridges where there is no river— the politician A mother and child stuck between concrete rubbles: Setting ablaze Muslim houses and children seekers of Ram White-yellow trail the Mirage on mission: Amidst roaring guns clouds blossom snow lotus: On the margin of home-to-work-to-home routine — life's achievements Shivering in the cold young boys sell balloons late night- New Year revellers Journeying tries to raise his silence to prayer Never enough the earth's hunger for graves: In measured pace hit for divinity two political golfers Disposable blades one over the other- dusty switchboard Seismic lab a network of cobweb: No Zen thought — scribbling haiku with gun in hand Staring at the huge stone penis at Shinto shrine- two female lovers With her breasts bobbing up and down she challenges the moon as she walks Sees the eyes in walls as I rise to kiss her Drowned in empty whiteness: Wiping tears from each other's eyes two souls in love Writing with strands of watery hair on her back a love haiku Love of three decades extinguished in a moment- anger in the mouth Shedding bitterness of the tiff in sex act she and I Moist lips parting on a tea cup promising expectation Bending down to pick up apple she presses piercing embrace She preys the body behind obsidian sheath fatuous flap After burns leaving the body the dead skin Her palms the only lingerie in Fashion Show Crouching out of the bath with hand on the genital his new tenant A pregnant woman bending over the mushroom bloomed under a tree Awaits the bloom of love in her womb: Lovely with hope the glow in her eyes: Her body — the night's perfection in dim light Seeing her a liquid sensation between the thighs On a canvas a poet in twilight painting her skin Sensing her presence he stares down the street- lingering perfume A star in making — but an island appears: Sipping gin with lime he says he loves sex each night but hates the smell Bleeding fingers draw new domes of betrayal in windy matrices His tongue between the teeth- sudden sneeze Fed up with my sex she threatens to move to our daughter's room Leaves him alone to escape daily rape in bed his wife The bedroom altar no substitute for temple- sacrifice of sex Winter's chill — sweating under the gown her thighs and breasts Scanning her stooping breasts — the first night Measuring life with ejaculatory rhythm — envies sparrow sports Her thighs — resting place for my head on bed Trying to decipher the complex curves on my palms in the morning rays Fondling her breasts I incite a poem on her body A film of mist between my eyes and her image Locked in her eyes the bright glow of the goddess Melting in the colour of the heart the sun in the west A lizard shrieks before the climax: The blood passes through green veins I hear the heart play melody of dews Every breath love in action — fire in the hole No bottom reader but the shape and the lines do tell she can stir the soul The aching limbs and blood dripping between the legs: With his head between the knees he squats and smells the body's sweat Bones rattle to make a song of flesh in the night- togetherness Insomnia blaming her not old age Lies with her in freezing cold: Invisible jangles odours presences- twinges in bed Drying on the line pork venison and beef-- the room smells their vests Don't know their tongue — the stars beyond the mountains whisper among themselves While I lie alone shapeless fears rest on my eyes heavier than time Searching salvation a moth flies into the lamp: Colours sparkle in the morning's dew on the blooms- my breathing changes Nobody cares burial of my dreams in coal dust Besides allergies so many other complaints: Bronchial breathing — the only sound audible in the soulless space Cleaning dusts from the old sandals for a walk: Peeling paint from the drawing room- shadows flicker Seeing no image in the mirror of time- foggy blankness Hot bath or no bath — the cough persists unmindful of the New Year's eve Sees in a flash — opening the eyes takes a long time Linked with anxiety my comfort at his home: Fear of forgetting — car insurance premium paid a month ahead Fears the approach of night with him — twisting tassels In the lone room prefers haiku to yoga drinking scotch Sunday afternoon- waving into gin two drops of lime Difficult to change I am what I have disowned- dressing down salads The bed is short and the covering shorter — crouching alone Unruffled by passions and clamours — Buddha's calm Seeks Buddha's stone bowl to win the bamboo princess: Her heart a thousand doors of oneness Disappears into dust her last photograph Trying to read good news I look at the lines taking new turns on my palms Looking for riches in her left hand shortening days on the pavement They sculpture psyche in the city of dumb dreams: Pulling out white hairs she reminds increasing age: Still a child- embracing a breast sleeps her man Exchanging anger with roses: They all walk like shadows in night for themselves Lying on his table a few unanswered letters and unrealized dreams A little child chases the painted dreams on butterfly wings Two butterflies racing with each other perch on the wire Sudden rain drops wet the wings of a butterfly lying at the basil Lost my way again asking for direction: Locked between the cracks cockroaches in the alcove dropping their eggs Awaiting their turn to feast on a dead dog crows in a circle A crow hits the scare crow and cracks its earthen head A crow picking at the ripe papaya and another waiting A yellow spider on the blooming marigold weaves tiny webs The questions that arise from the opening foundational poem inform the others in the collection, which range widely from the dramatic arrival of an uncanny charismatic totem that titles the volume to intimate reflections on family, illness, and dream visions.

But in The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish , Weiner has discovered a new poetic idiom, one that is stripped down, rhythmically jagged, and comprehensively philosophical about human limits. Review Quotes Review Quotes. Publishers Weekly, starred review. Book-ended by two long poems, and centered around a number of shorter lyrics, The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish shows a range of forms, modes, and concerns.

These poems make profundity exciting.

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