Daphne Gottlieb

San Francisco-based performance poet Daphne Gottlieb is one of the most innovative voices in American poetry today, having carved out a space for herself out on the distant intersection of avant-garde verse, feminist theory, and popular culture. Her latest volume, Kissing Dead Girls, is another gleeful, high-speed smear of mordant humor, historical mash-up, and feral exploration of bodies, hearts, fluids, emotions, and scars. If in total the book is less startling and focused than Final Girl, her award-winning 2003 collection, it is because here Gottlieb is expanding her themes and experimenting with a broader set of poetic forms.

The poems in Kissing Dead Girls can be divided into two basic categories, the first being blunt chunks of prose poetry that often hang on a surrealist turn—a woman who thinks her clothes have memories (“carry-on”), a woman who, bored, replaces the moon in the night sky with her heart (“waxing”). These poems achieve varying levels of emotional impact; the intellectual reversal sometimes feels gimmicky rather than radically epiphanic, and one can’t help but feel that they benefit from Gottlieb’s renowned performance delivery, having at times the curiously lifeless rhythm that slam poetry can effect on the page.

The true brilliance of Kissing Dead Girls, and the source of its power, lies in the second category of poems, where Gottlieb’s penchant for engineering shocking juxtapositions comes into its own. With these poems she advances structures that are often either conflationary (alternating found voices, as in the scathing abortion poem “roe parasites”) or syncretic (combining two or more found narratives side-by-side, as in “our lady of the other,” which balances text from Julie Kristeva and Harriet Beecher Stowe). The effect is brilliant, troubling, and often funny: in forcing drastically different narratives together, Gottlieb has created a genre-bending synthesis all her own. Her sources—the appropriated voices and re-contextualized quotations—are the engine of the poetry, because she takes from a grab bag of cultural detritus high (Whitman, Stein, Orwell, Shaw) and low (pornography, tabloid headlines, The Exorcist, Marilyn Monroe, JonBenet Ramsay, crime shows) and swirls them around in a raucous vortex.

No one does this kind of verbal collage as inventively as Gottlieb. In fact, with the possible exception of Olena Kalytiak Davis, another poet of violent conjunction, no one I can think of does it at all, which marks Gottlieb’s achievement as a unique advancement. As recently as 2003 the critic Elisabeth A. Frost, in her book The Feminist Avant-Garde in American Poetry, could decry “the predominant models of identity politics on one hand and ‘feminine writing’ on the other—the two theoretical models that have dominated discussions of feminist poetics in the United States,” noting that the crippling “emphasis on personal voice—and the relatively transparent language that often accompanies it—supports an unspoken assumption that linguistic experimentation has little relevance to feminist writing.” Daphne Gottlieb’s revenants, “freshly dead and ready for love,” may have highly personal voices, but their language is hardly transparent, and all the more jolting and urgent for it. Gottlieb wills herself to be the lover of all these dead women, famous and obscure, and the force of her desire is both unnerving and invigorating. -- Zoland Poetry Review website, Winter 2008.… (más)

A re-read prompted by my traipse through my poetry shelf to catalog for goodreads. An acquisition from the period when I was obsessed with Soft Skull Books. One of the few books I lent to Jessa that I demanded back before she moved to Germany.

This is a book for young feminists -- deeply entrenched in the war of the sexes. Raw from the evils of misogyny in the world -- street harassment, abuse, domestic violence, rape... and the way women fold themselves up to live within the narrow confines that will will them approval, or at least safety. Poetry for fans of Michelle Tea, of Cunt, of the fierce feminist warriors of spoken word...

Reading this again so many years later brought up a bewildering mess of emotions from when I , too, was raw from constantly being grated against the Global Accords on the Fair Use of the Sex Class. The shock of strange men showing me their dicks as they passed me on the interstate. Being overwhelmed by righteous grief each time I listened to Ani DiFranco's "Hide and Seek"... The rage of hearing stories like the disappearing women of Juarez. The ache of watching yet another friend redefine their entire life around an unexpected pregnancy that was never more than an inconvenience or a punchline to the man "responsible."

All of this shit is still in the world. I'm both grateful and horrified by the distance my current reality lets me put between my daily life and these horrors. Reading this poetry is like licking the wound and finding it still new, electric.… (más)

A morbidly dark, dark, dark (did I mention dark) graphic novel centered around a young woman's search for meaning in her father's death as well as her sexuality. 19 year old Sasha spends her summer working as a clerk at the same hospital her father worked as a doctor. Along the way she encounters a motley cast both in the hospital and in her life. The vignettes get a few stars for creativity; however, the tale is so fragmented and disconnected as to leave the reader with a big MEH at the END. I'm curious what Gottlieb and DiMassa may put together next, if they collaborate again, because there were signs this could have been great.… (más)