At the Drive-in Volcano, Aimee Nezhukumatathil's next collection
of poems, is available now!
NEW! ATDIV was just named the winner of the Balcones Prize, which honors an outstanding book of poetry published during the year. The Balcones Poetry Prize judges praised her “tight, economical poems that contain just the right amount of darkness and elegance,” poems that are “extravagant and accessible,” “fresh and funny, congenial and sharp,” and said that she has “heeded Pound’s call to make it new.”
(photo by Marion Ettlinger)
“Aimee Nezhukumatathil's poems are as ripe, funny and fresh as a precious friendship. They're the fullness of days, deliciously woven of heart and verve, rich with sources and elements -- animals, insects, sugar, cardamom, legends, countries, relatives, soaps, fruits -- taste and touch. I love the nubby layerings of lines, luscious textures and constructions. Aimee writes with a deep resonance of spirit and sight. She's scared of nothing. She knows that many worlds may live in one house. Poems like these revive our souls. Read them, then say her glorious name over and over again like a charm of syllables -- it's a poem of its own.”
-- Naomi Shihab Nye
Her attention to the aural element provides a solid sonic scaffolding for her work...Nezhukumatathil is a talented young poet, and At The Drive-In Volcano is a fine collection of her work that's worth the investment for anyone who enjoys skillful-crafted poetry.
"The curious finds in nature and human folly, which might otherwise get slumped into trivia or become the odd ingredient in a conversation starter, are skillfully and delicately handled...Nezhukumatathil’s poetic lens is indeed smudged with an anxiety that gives her second book a distinctively sinister edge...The result is daring and dazzling."
--LUNA: A Journal of Poetry and Translation
"The poems in At the Drive-In Volcano, Nezhukumatatathil's sharp and witty second collection, showcase not only the poet's dexterity with language, but also her ability to tie natural oddities to our human experience, to make us see connections in the unlikely of places."
--Mid-American Review
"Aimee Nezhukumatathil's second collection can be as vivid as a lava flow and as cool and keen-edged as obsidian. Perhaps most vivid is the landscape of love, with its smooth and rocky terrain: "I will curl around you like / a pistol shrimp and you will wonder / where all this sand is coming from." Direct in tone and sentiment, her work is laced with humor and pragmatically hopeful."
--Open Books Emporium, Seattle, WA
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sample poems:
BY THE LIGHT OF A SINGLE WORM
KERALA, INDIA
Land snails the size of hockey pucks
slime a shimmer along craggy roots. A mantis
wipes its eyes with her forelegs like she's taking
off a new sweater. A certain earthworm
luminesces so strongly here, a zoology professor
once wrote a whole lecture by the light
of a single worm. My hand washes blue
and tiny hairs above the knuckle look electric.
Soil becomes glitter, even the flattest stone
turns into cabochon. When I bathe, a lizard
shaped like a cassava root with blue eyes
spies on me from the corner of the ceiling. I've seen
them fall on dinner tables, into noodle puddings,
the cold ceramic of the kitchen sink, and I just know
I will be next. I turn off the light, knowing that
in darkness they run along baseboards, savoring
picture frames until sunrise. I finish my bath
in darkness with only the glow from the garden,
listen for any evidence of a tell-tale splash.
........................
LOVE IN THE ORANGERY
When you see a seventy-pound octopus squeeze
through a hole the size of a half-dollar coin, you
finally understand that everything you learn about
the sea will only make people you love say You lie.
There are land truths that scare me: a purple orchid
that only blooms underground. A German poet
buried in the heart of an oak tree. The lighthouse man
who used to walk around the streets at night
with a lighted candle stuck into his skull. But winters
in Florida—all the street corners have sad fruit
tucked into the curb—fallen from orangery truckers
who take corners too fast. The air is sick with citrus
you love the small spots of orange in walls
of leafy green as we drive. Your love is a concrete canoe
that floats in the lake like a lead balloon, improbable
as a steel wool cloud, a metal feather. This is the truth:
I once believed nothing on earth could make me say Magic.
You believe in the orange blossom tucked behind my ear.
.................................
AT THE DRIVE-IN VOLCANO
I am a very different wife.
Sulfur & ash fill my nose
until both nostrils are beige,
my hands hot & webbed
with steam. My new husband
urges me closer to the center
of the steaming caldera
for a picture until I am up
against the rail. Our guide
tells us of a rasta man
who once fell in
& survived. His entire body
turned smooth as a candle.
Come with me, Husband.
Put down your backpack,
your camera—let us
be remarried in fire.
One by one the stars go out.
Even in this darkness,
there is so much light.