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Now You're the Enemy: Poems
2009 Texas Institute of Letters Poetry Award; Finalist for the 2008 Independent Booksellers’ Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Award; co-winner in the gay poetry category from Lambda Book Awards.
A family in the aftermath of violence These raw and powerful poems have at their heart the charged, archetypal figure of the mother. Conflicted by the twin desires of self-destruction and self-preservation, this mother is both terrible and beautiful. This compassionate, nervy collection of poems shows a family in the aftermath of violence. James Allen Hall explores themes of loss, the intersection of grief and desire, and the ways in which history, art, and politics shape the self. We meet the speaker's mother in many guises-she is the rogue Republic of Texas, the titular character of Rosemary's Baby, a nineteenth century artist's model, a fake entry in an encyclopedia, the lost queen of King Lear. With clarity, wit, and compassion, the speaker discovers the facets of his mother-her own abuse, her years of adultery, her struggle to remain independent-so that he may come to terms with his own sexuality. By seeing his mother in these guises, the speaker understands identity as it develops along and is reclaimed from the most repressive of social margins. Hall's poems twine the autobiographical impulse with a deeper emotional, somewhat surreal, temperament. This is a book as much about the way we tell our stories as it is about the stories we tell. Now You're the Enemy negotiates narrative in order to refashion the self-as a way to survive, to learn the redemptive power of love.
A family in the aftermath of violence These raw and powerful poems have at their heart the charged, archetypal figure of the mother. Conflicted by the twin desires of self-destruction and self-preservation, this mother is both terrible and beautiful. This compassionate, nervy collection of poems shows a family in the aftermath of violence. James Allen Hall explores themes of loss, the intersection of grief and desire, and the ways in which history, art, and politics shape the self. We meet the speaker's mother in many guises-she is the rogue Republic of Texas, the titular character of Rosemary's Baby, a nineteenth century artist's model, a fake entry in an encyclopedia, the lost queen of King Lear. With clarity, wit, and compassion, the speaker discovers the facets of his mother-her own abuse, her years of adultery, her struggle to remain independent-so that he may come to terms with his own sexuality. By seeing his mother in these guises, the speaker understands identity as it develops along and is reclaimed from the most repressive of social margins. Hall's poems twine the autobiographical impulse with a deeper emotional, somewhat surreal, temperament. This is a book as much about the way we tell our stories as it is about the stories we tell. Now You're the Enemy negotiates narrative in order to refashion the self-as a way to survive, to learn the redemptive power of love.
- GenresPoetry
74 pages, Paperback
First published February 15, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
July 8, 2013
A fellow poet recommended this book to me and I'm glad she did. It was helpful for me to read because it covers some similar themes and time shifts as the collection I'm writing now. There were moments in the book when I felt the sentiment would have been more powerful if understated rather than overstated.
There were also a few lines that seemed too prosaic and I wish they would have been "poetrified"--I ask the poet to just set a timer and work for 20 minutes until the line includes musicality, image, figurative language. One example is, "The red circles stare back matter-of-factly." I think there might be a more powerful way to say that.
But I appreciated the narrative of the collection as a whole, and the ability of the poet to give such a thorough portrait of the family unit.
Some spots that resonated were:
"Remember the Alamo? That was my mother."
"She has not asked to be
this world's small god."
"The mother
is an incongruous order of unforgivable monster."
There were also a few lines that seemed too prosaic and I wish they would have been "poetrified"--I ask the poet to just set a timer and work for 20 minutes until the line includes musicality, image, figurative language. One example is, "The red circles stare back matter-of-factly." I think there might be a more powerful way to say that.
But I appreciated the narrative of the collection as a whole, and the ability of the poet to give such a thorough portrait of the family unit.
Some spots that resonated were:
"Remember the Alamo? That was my mother."
"She has not asked to be
this world's small god."
"The mother
is an incongruous order of unforgivable monster."
August 11, 2020
It's impossible for me to write an objective review of these poems. I see in them what Hall wanted from my poetry: graduation. He said that a poem must move beyond itself to talk about something else worth talking about. I've been trying to write poems this good ever since I met him. I could go on. Just read the book.
September 14, 2008
This book kicked my ass in a good way. If you like completely unflinching poems, this is your book.
July 21, 2015
Simply put: On my top five books of poetry. Each time I pick it up I find something new to draw me in deeper.
A Must read for any poetry lover.
A Must read for any poetry lover.
December 30, 2018
James Allen Hall's poems are visceral, sometimes surreal, unflinching, and alive. This is a terrific debut collection of poems.
February 16, 2024
Good, and darrrrrrk.
September 28, 2011
James Allen Hall, Now You're the Enemy (University of Arkansas Press, 2008)
It makes sense that obsession can be a driving force for creativity, and one sees it everywhere, if one knows how to look at such things. (Everyone's aware Stephen King has a thing about kids, right?) When you get into shorter forms of art, however, delving into the obsessions of a particular artist can either be a phantasmagoric-though-brilliant experience (cf. Richard Siken's Crush, once of the best books of poetry of the last decade, or the complete works of Swans frontman Michael Gira) or they can be like eating frozen lemonade concentrate; sour but delicious in small amounts, but you get to the point pretty quick where you need to vary the taste before it gets old. It doesn't help matters much when the obsession you're cultivating is trod so well there are grooves in the linoleum, and Hall's got the oldest one of all: mom.
“My mother runs even before she's upright,
out the unlocked door, down the concrete stoop,
pulling up her pants, over the lawn,
into the Sunday traffic, waving her hands,
saying Help in a voice she does not recognize.”
(“Portrait of My Mother as Self-Inflicting Philomena”)
“Portrait of My Mother As [X]” is a frequent title in this volume, and while occasionally it gets used in a creative or amusing way (“Portrait of My Mother As the Republic of Texas” is actually the book's best piece, witty, clever, not at all maudlin), after a while it's like listening to forty-five-minute techno dance remixes of bad pop songs—thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump repeat, and with bad lyrics on top. But even the worst bad pop songs usually have a line or two that's hooky enough to keep you listening, and so it is with Hall's book; the good pieces here are very good, and as long as you're willing to put up with the rest, they make it worth a read. ** ½
It makes sense that obsession can be a driving force for creativity, and one sees it everywhere, if one knows how to look at such things. (Everyone's aware Stephen King has a thing about kids, right?) When you get into shorter forms of art, however, delving into the obsessions of a particular artist can either be a phantasmagoric-though-brilliant experience (cf. Richard Siken's Crush, once of the best books of poetry of the last decade, or the complete works of Swans frontman Michael Gira) or they can be like eating frozen lemonade concentrate; sour but delicious in small amounts, but you get to the point pretty quick where you need to vary the taste before it gets old. It doesn't help matters much when the obsession you're cultivating is trod so well there are grooves in the linoleum, and Hall's got the oldest one of all: mom.
“My mother runs even before she's upright,
out the unlocked door, down the concrete stoop,
pulling up her pants, over the lawn,
into the Sunday traffic, waving her hands,
saying Help in a voice she does not recognize.”
(“Portrait of My Mother as Self-Inflicting Philomena”)
“Portrait of My Mother As [X]” is a frequent title in this volume, and while occasionally it gets used in a creative or amusing way (“Portrait of My Mother As the Republic of Texas” is actually the book's best piece, witty, clever, not at all maudlin), after a while it's like listening to forty-five-minute techno dance remixes of bad pop songs—thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump repeat, and with bad lyrics on top. But even the worst bad pop songs usually have a line or two that's hooky enough to keep you listening, and so it is with Hall's book; the good pieces here are very good, and as long as you're willing to put up with the rest, they make it worth a read. ** ½
May 13, 2009
I picked this up from the library last month after Mark Doty recommended it at his reading at The Center, read it, but didn't really get into it. I liked it much more, on re-reading it over the past few days. Maybe I over-poetried in April, and needed the break of reading a novel as breathing-space, before more poems.
Most of these poems center on, or circle around, the speaker's mother. "I maul her into memory," the first poem says, but warns us, too that "no story is true" (p 3). There is strain and violence, violence against the speaker's mother, and then her responding violence against the world. I think my favorite of these poems is "Portrait of My Mother as the Republic of Texas," which is ballsy and funny, a way to capture an outsize figure, super from the first phrases: "After my mother won independence in 1836,/she dysfunctioned as her own nation," then continuing with twists and perfect turns of phrase (p 5) The six sections of "Portrait of My Mother as Victorine Meurent" are excellent, too, and not just 'cause I'm often a sucker for poems about paintings: I love the clear images of these, the imagined thoughts of artist and model, the way that these poems, like others in the collection, play with power dynamics: here is the artist fixing his model in paint; here is his model, walking away.
Most of these poems center on, or circle around, the speaker's mother. "I maul her into memory," the first poem says, but warns us, too that "no story is true" (p 3). There is strain and violence, violence against the speaker's mother, and then her responding violence against the world. I think my favorite of these poems is "Portrait of My Mother as the Republic of Texas," which is ballsy and funny, a way to capture an outsize figure, super from the first phrases: "After my mother won independence in 1836,/she dysfunctioned as her own nation," then continuing with twists and perfect turns of phrase (p 5) The six sections of "Portrait of My Mother as Victorine Meurent" are excellent, too, and not just 'cause I'm often a sucker for poems about paintings: I love the clear images of these, the imagined thoughts of artist and model, the way that these poems, like others in the collection, play with power dynamics: here is the artist fixing his model in paint; here is his model, walking away.
February 18, 2012
Now I've reread this and read a few interviews with the author. I can somewhat appreciate what he was trying to do, and there are a couple poems that I really like. However, my original sentiment was largely confirmed.
Absolutely not my cup of tea...
Absolutely not my cup of tea...
March 7, 2009
Raw
Poignant
An excellent read
Poignant
An excellent read
April 21, 2011
Hall's empathy is scathing. Brave.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews