Terminal Surreal: Poems
Autor Martha Silanoen Limba Engleză Paperback – sep 2025
In her masterful poetry collection Terminal Surreal, Martha Silano confronts the reality of mortality with gorgeous attention to imagery and scene. The book follows a trajectory from early symptoms before diagnosis with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) to full-blown illness and its effects on friends and family, including her children, who appear in poems like “After Dropping My Son Off at College” and “My Nineteen-Year-Old Daughter Is My Personal Assistant.”
With a devoted naturalist’s eye, Silano revels in birds, trees, and flowers in a way that reminds readers we are connected to the world around us. The book touches on the medical, the metaphysical, and even the cosmological (through encounters in medical offices and on a moon of Mars). With Nutter Butters and Lorna Doones, abecedarians and self-elegies, Silano’s singular, feisty, contemporary voice propels these poems of grief and acceptance as they explore the transformational power of art.
When I Learn Catastrophically
is an anagram of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.
When I learn I probably have a couple years,
maybe (catastrophically) less, crossword puzzles
begin to feel meaningless, though not the pair
of mergansers, not the red cardinal of my heart.
The sky does all sorts of marvelously uncatastrophic
things that winter I shimmy between science
& song, between widgeons & windows, weather
& its invitation to walk. Walking, which becomes
my lose less, my less morsels, my lose smile
while more sore looms. . . .
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781946724946
ISBN-10: 1946724947
Pagini: 116
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.18 kg
Editura: ACRE BOOKS
Colecția Acre Books
ISBN-10: 1946724947
Pagini: 116
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.18 kg
Editura: ACRE BOOKS
Colecția Acre Books
Notă biografică
Martha Silano (1962–2025) was the author of This One We Call Ours, Gravity Assist, Reckless Lovely, The Little Office of the Immaculate Conception, and the forthcoming collection Last Train to Paradise: New and Selected Poems. She was coauthor of The Daily Poet: Day-by-Day Prompts for Your Writing Practice. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, The Paris Review, American Poetry Review, Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and many anthologies. Diagnosed with ALS in 2023, she lived in Seattle, Washington, until May 2025.
Cuprins
I.
Can’t Complain,
Flying Rats
Self-Appraisal at 62
I’m Not So Good at Corpse Pose
Mistakes Were Made
What’s Terrible
Possible Diagnosis
It’s Benzene, It’s Ash, It’s Lead,
Unambiguously,
Elegy with Exhaust Fan and Robin Song at Dusk
I Have Thoughts Fed by the Sun,
Mortal
On a Bench Facing West
Death Poem
II.
Orders of Operation
Since You’re Alive
When I Learn Catastrophically
To-Do List
Abecedarian with ALS
I am the last loss,
When I’m on the Bed
At the Mycological Society Survivors Banquet
I didn’t understand Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale”
Is This My Last Ferry Trip?
Terminal Surreal
Abecedarian on a Friday Morning
Self-Elegies
III.
When I Can’t Get Out of Bed
What You See Isn’t What You Get
It’s Difficult to Understand
Today
Wake-Up Call
Why I Want to Be a Noble Gas
Sometimes It’s Nice to Be Taken Away
Spas of the Mind
The Busy Roadways of the Dead
Cars & Such
Leo
When My Phone Tells Me
Why I’d Make a Great Chemist
IV.
John Muir Elementary
Next Week We Have a Doudle Assinment
There Are Thousands of Pleasures,
Double Triptych for the Months of Nectarine and Plum
Key Grove
How It Is Today
What I Didn’t Realize
How to Fall
After Dropping My Son Off at College,
Poem on My Son’s Twenty-Third Birthday
My Nineteen-Year-Old Daughter Is My Personal Assistant,
A Poem about Twinflower
Spoon Theory
Smile
If We Didn’t Leave the Task to Backhoes
Legacy
V.
I Found Small Slices of Joy
I Always Wake Up Happy
Taking a Walk with Rimbaud
Postcard from Some Unknown Part of My Brain
What I’ll Miss
I Want to Be an Adirondack Chair
She’s Pretty Much Who She Was,
You-n-Me
Poetry,
Portrait of Apple Cinnamon Mush, Chobani Yogurt Drink, and BiPAP
Before and After: A Quasi-Abecedarian
Making the Best of It
You Are Much More Than This Body
Can’t Complain,
Flying Rats
Self-Appraisal at 62
I’m Not So Good at Corpse Pose
Mistakes Were Made
What’s Terrible
Possible Diagnosis
It’s Benzene, It’s Ash, It’s Lead,
Unambiguously,
Elegy with Exhaust Fan and Robin Song at Dusk
I Have Thoughts Fed by the Sun,
Mortal
On a Bench Facing West
Death Poem
II.
Orders of Operation
Since You’re Alive
When I Learn Catastrophically
To-Do List
Abecedarian with ALS
I am the last loss,
When I’m on the Bed
At the Mycological Society Survivors Banquet
I didn’t understand Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale”
Is This My Last Ferry Trip?
Terminal Surreal
Abecedarian on a Friday Morning
Self-Elegies
III.
When I Can’t Get Out of Bed
What You See Isn’t What You Get
It’s Difficult to Understand
Today
Wake-Up Call
Why I Want to Be a Noble Gas
Sometimes It’s Nice to Be Taken Away
Spas of the Mind
The Busy Roadways of the Dead
Cars & Such
Leo
When My Phone Tells Me
Why I’d Make a Great Chemist
IV.
John Muir Elementary
Next Week We Have a Doudle Assinment
There Are Thousands of Pleasures,
Double Triptych for the Months of Nectarine and Plum
Key Grove
How It Is Today
What I Didn’t Realize
How to Fall
After Dropping My Son Off at College,
Poem on My Son’s Twenty-Third Birthday
My Nineteen-Year-Old Daughter Is My Personal Assistant,
A Poem about Twinflower
Spoon Theory
Smile
If We Didn’t Leave the Task to Backhoes
Legacy
V.
I Found Small Slices of Joy
I Always Wake Up Happy
Taking a Walk with Rimbaud
Postcard from Some Unknown Part of My Brain
What I’ll Miss
I Want to Be an Adirondack Chair
She’s Pretty Much Who She Was,
You-n-Me
Poetry,
Portrait of Apple Cinnamon Mush, Chobani Yogurt Drink, and BiPAP
Before and After: A Quasi-Abecedarian
Making the Best of It
You Are Much More Than This Body
Recenzii
“There has never been a life force quite like the life force that is Martha Silano, ‘a feisty feckful gal / who fancied words like gherkin / and scintillate,’ and no poetry like the poetry that springs from that life force. Live-wire lines flood with lifeblood. Images emerge from a voracious mind, with a breathless studiousness, and a witnessed understanding of ecology, the cosmos, and the body. Hers is the poetics of being unabashedly in love with life. In Terminal Surreal, Silano, having received a terminal diagnosis, steps into an astonishingly forthright, exuberant investigation of mortality, its beauty, and its price. I have no doubt this voice, these poems, will live forever.”
“The sheer abundance of the world in Terminal Surreal is striking. I can’t think of a book since Neruda’s odes that’s as rich in particulars or as broad in range. From Keats to a clam that can live a hundred sixty years, from clean cupboards to constellations, poem after poem explodes with imagination and discovery. Martha Silano’s distinctive voice—energetic, funny, inquisitive, full of delight—animates her deft explorations of the past, the present, and what’s to come. Terminal Surreal is exuberant, moving, and insightful.”
“What brilliance and what exuberance characterize Terminal Surreal, Martha Silano’s seventh book of poems. Alea iacta est: within the first few pages, the poet reveals her diagnosis of ALS. For the rest of the book she struggles with that bitter sentence, it is true, but even more, she hurls herself headlong into her love affair with the world. ‘Wasn’t there always awe, punctuated / with grief?’ she asks for instance in ‘It’s Benzene, It’s Ash, It’s Lead.’
Weren’t we always elegies
with spleens? But today all I care about
is the Island Marble Butterfly making
a comeback. Coming back in all its green-
and-white-mottled glory.
This is a learned book (how much she knows about science!) and a funny book. But most of all, it is a brave book. ‘Always Wake Up Happy,’ one poem is titled: ‘because, you know, I could’ve died while I lay me down.’ So could we all. But dying, Martha Silano superbly shows us living.”
Weren’t we always elegies
with spleens? But today all I care about
is the Island Marble Butterfly making
a comeback. Coming back in all its green-
and-white-mottled glory.
This is a learned book (how much she knows about science!) and a funny book. But most of all, it is a brave book. ‘Always Wake Up Happy,’ one poem is titled: ‘because, you know, I could’ve died while I lay me down.’ So could we all. But dying, Martha Silano superbly shows us living.”
"Her forthcoming book of poems “Terminal Surreal” explores the difficulties of being alive and knowing there’s no cure for her ailment."
"Silano's posthumous eighth collection, Terminal Surreal, incorporates science and nature imagery in a mischievous and moving verse account of her final years with ALS. . . . Silano acknowledges her decline and ponders all she'll miss, yet manages to find the humor and ridiculousness in her situation. Her winsome philosophical work is a gift."
"Exuberant stoicism. Sober slapstick. I’ve always loved poetry that holds up the indubitable crap of reality then blasts it with factual miraculousness. In these world-embracing poems, Martha Silano turns her terminal ALS diagnosis into a vessel for cooking fear and bitterness into irony and delight. . . . Her energetic, jam-packed lines buzz with the music and beauty of mushrooms and hummingbirds, paddleboards and Xanax. Her incredible register ranges from goofy to grim, from scientific to awestruck. We’re all terminal, right? But Silano’s poems seize the moments."