At last, August 17, 2017 is upon us and it marks the release of Jerrod Bohn's Animal Histories. While we could tell you about it, we'd love for you to read this blurb instead:
“Cut these words,” Emerson claims, “and they would bleed; they are vascular and alive.”
Reading Jerrod E. Bohn’s Animal Histories, that radically embodied vision of writing kept
repeating itself in my head. And well it would: here, in these poems, syllables aren’t beat but breath, aren’t prosody but pulse. There is a tense strain of music in the very air that Bohn is heir to, wild inheritor of profound contradiction, of poem and of prose, but more—those embracing opposites of the ethereal and the worldly, of Being always about to be, and the daily life over-full with being, no capital “B” in sight. As such, he inherits that oldest of poetic traditions—trickster, who knows the pure doesn’t get to stay pure, who knows the
holy casts a profane shadow, and whose book undoes the ease of our self-venerations.
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