BLOODMUCK by Linette Reeman

BLOODMUCK by Linette Reeman


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To be elective. To grow a monster, a new mouth, a new collective knowledge of creation myth. Or to revise an old etymology, whether from Eden’s snake or the bloodied mirror of ritual or the industrial complex of eugenics and carceral capitalism. Such is the experience of reading Linette Reeman’s BLOODMUCK, which catapults us into their brutal, necessary terrain. Reeman is a poet who fixates on the details of our divine machinations, asking us "what the godmonster needs to keep surviving" in the same glorious breath as its answer: “all the creation myths are true.” Here is a poetry that punches the gut of reconciliation. Theirs is an experience that bulldozes as it transcends the written lawful order, that reckons with the scientists who “tell [me] this freak- / thing should not have survived.” Reeman is unstoppable. To read BLOODMUCK is to “infest each / complacent corner” with their “new-born teeth.” BLOODMUCK is terrifically alive. It pushes and pushes and pushes us as it also shows us humanity and grace.

But don’t just take our word for it. Feast your eyes on this advance praise, from our own George Abraham:

Linette Reeman's BLOODMUCK is, simultaneously, the sunset roadtrip silence after everyone loses their voice screaming to the music & a lesson in a very specific earth-shattering loneliness. These poems scream, demand your gaze, shatter it, and feed the pieces back to you off a bloodied platter. Intertwining past & present, Reeman speaks across time in a manner that is unfathomably & inescapably timeless. Here is resurrection, of bodies living & dead; here, the grief itself breathes, as Reeman forces readers to not only confront conversations they run from, but reminds them of the price of their abandonment. Here, even the police state & gods are held accountable for their massacre; Reeman writes, "o, god of fast music and neck muscles, show me a queer intimacy that does not end in a dawn that dreads the bruises it will expose." You are not meant to escape these poems (unscathed). 
—George Abraham, author of al youm (TAR Chapbook Series, 2017) and the specimen’s apology (Sibling Rivalry Press, forthcoming 2019)

For a limited time, you may preorder BLOODMUCK free of shipping! That sexy black pleather image above is a teaser shot from co-editor Emily Raw’s cover process. We can’t wait to show you the final product.