Who’s the queen of kundalini bloopers, Emily Dickinson’s attitude problem (that bitch) and California dreams? It’s Melissa Broder, who will charm your pants off and show you a little tough love in this vivid, witty first collection of poems. Each poem is artisan-crafted in controlled couplets, weighty triplets, tight syllabics and assonance that will take the top of your head off. But you won’t have the time to absorb the academic monkeyshine–so absorbed you’ll be on the flip side of Bat Mitzvah stress-syndrome, Aunt Sheila’s in Taos, vampires in absentia, and brand names, brand names, brand names. From junkie fetishism to a housewife with a special “thing” for laundry, Broder does dark with magnetic charisma and enchanting humor.
“Melissa Broder’s ebullient, essayistic poems pay attention to sounds and sense, rousing tunes out of Duane Reades and words like “unhitchery” equally. She addresses her poems to a world of non-poetic people who might find themselves in her poems: people with acne, teenage waifs, and aging anarchists alike. They are cosmopolitan in a playful kind of way. They’re super poems.”
Melissa Broder’s poems are bad-ass ninja assassins smoking Camel straights and drinking Tab in blood-soaked satin tutus. Her new book is full of tightly-crafted, controlled explosions...When you think she can’t get any wilder, she climbs yet another rung…She speaks in many tongues, and all of them bite.
Melissa Broder's work offers readers a rush, buzz, panoply of pop culture, as well as her own boisterous brand of dark humor. But be warned: behind the irrepressible excess, an extremely clear-headed and sharp-witted poet is taking notes. Her unique gift for being both grounded and giddy at once gives this writing its delightfully wicked edge.
…an energetic dissection of contemporary American life… penetrating and illuminating…a vibrant and eclectic collection.
A fit and noisy body, [this book] steamrolls through crises with the sugar and swing typically associated with the likes of The Shangri-Las and Ramones.
“Broder reminds us that we come from the womb, but there’s no returning thereto. Yet, with a delightful balance between the dark and the heady, the poems provide a sense that revelry in moments of bleakness is always both possible and desirable.”
“…evokes Portnoy’s Complaint and Woody Allen and generally just sticks in your head…”
...there’s empathy even in the most dismal portraits, and a concern with humanity—as the whole mess of us, poetic narrators included—which shores together these pieces into something solid, something more than the sum of their technically excellent parts