Download Blood Dazzler by Patricia Smith PDF

By Patricia Smith

In minute-by-minute aspect, Patricia Smith tracks storm Katrina because it transforms right into a full-blown mistress of destruction. From August 23, 2005, the day Tropical melancholy Twelve built, via August 28 while it turned a class 5 typhoon with its “scarlet glare fastened at the trembling crescent,” to the heartbreaking aftermath, those poems evoke the horror that spread out in New Orleans as the US watched it on television.

Assuming the voices of flailing politicians, the loss of life, their survivors, and the voice of the storm itself, Smith follows the woefully insufficient aid attempt and stands witness to households held captive on rooftops and within the Superdome. She supplies voice to the thirty-four nursing domestic citizens who drowned in St. Bernard Parish and remembers the day after their deaths while George W. Bush observed kingdom singer Mark Willis on guitar:

The cowboy grins in the course of the negative din,
***
And within the 9th, a choking lady wails
Look like this state performed left us for dead.

An unforgettable reminder that poetry can nonetheless be “news that remains news,” Blood Dazzler is an important step towards nationwide healing.

Patricia Smith is the writer of 4 earlier collections of poetry, together with Teahouse of the Almighty, winner of the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award and the Paterson Poetry Prize. A record-setting, nationwide poetry slam champion, she was once featured within the movie Slamnation, at the HBO sequence Def Poetry Jam, and is a widespread contributor to Harriet, the Poetry Foundation’s web publication. stopover at her site at www.wordwoman.ws.

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Extra resources for Blood Dazzler

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And in the shank of the evening, gather all available stems but refute closure. ” The bus came late, left Early—when all our cares were theirs. LingerIng by the gate of another fly swat, Possum fry, lateral dodge. ” As if the trees torched the sky and the Boiler ran on lost facts. Depend upon It, lest it depend on you, whom the sun Has never touched nor the mist betrayed. Turning tales into tokens the moment The fire hydrant slides in safe at left Field. Drunk with promiselessness, fat on tears. Capris?

Felix eagerly thrusts his hands out to all the passing clowns and gets many big shakes. It is all exactly as always, exactly as I first saw this parade almost fifty years ago. The same grand boulevard running along the park, the same tunes piercing the crisp air. Life has not proceeded at all and I feel as if I must not yet be born. My brother teaches at an elementary school a few blocks from the World Trade Center site. When the buildings got hit, the children had to be evacuated. The school has been flooded with assigned condolence letters from children across America.

Your bracelet adorns your wrist like a knight in ardor crying for a key to the tumbledown cabin on the dunes. A bonnet repairs what the billy goat embargos—ocean of this close and then again, until all the folds 52 are rounded into the bend. And we meet, like actors in a made-for-TV mini-series, at the end of a pier on a blind alley or on a steamship or in a crowded piazza in an unidentifiable Italian city that turns out to be Bayonne. You’re there in the final scene and so am I but we don’t recognize each other because we’ve gone beyond all that.

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