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edorend's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
4.0
martyrbat's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
3.75
Content Warnings
Graphic: Racism, Violence, Grief, and Colonisation
Moderate: Addiction, Mental illness, and Sexual content
Minor: Gun violence, Police brutality, and War
benplatt's review against another edition
4.0
Absence and desire are in some ways inextricable from each other, but the layers of absence at work here encompass bodies, cultures, languages, lands, and even sports. The series of poems on water and the body illustrate Diaz' landscape of desire amidst coloniality best, especially in "exhibits from the American Water Museum." It's an admirable skill, even if the poems of more traditional bodily desire often leave me cold. But what do I know, I'm ace.
spenkevich's review against another edition
5.0
WINNER OF THE 2021 PULITZER PRIZE for POETRY
‘It is hard not to have faith in this,’ Natalie Diaz writes in her 2021 Pulitzer Prize winning collection Postcolonial Love Poem. There is a deep faith in what is possible that permeates this collection despite the deep dives of poetic investigation of colonialism that afflicts both the national level but the individual level as well. This collection is a beautiful celebration of indigenous lives while also demanding a reckoning of the loss and erasure of a nation that was sacrificed for the one that now stands. Diaz wrestles with identity and the problematic aspects of publishing that demand performance from non-white writers. ‘It is real work to not perform / a fable,’ she says, acknowledging that ‘Americans prefer a magical Indian’ even when dipping into magical elements to bring nature and the land to life. This is an absolutely stunning collection that laments the loss of land and colonial genocide while engaging the reader to rise up and believe in a better future with atonement and love, and Postcolonial Love Poem is not only the perfect selection for immortalization through a Pulitzer Prize but a perfect collection of poetry as well.
‘Do you think the water will forget what we have done, what we continue to do?’
Divided into three sections and punctuated by thought provoking quotes by poetry giants such as [a:Mahmoud Darwish|75055|Mahmoud Darwish|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1414535868p2/75055.jpg] and current US Poet Laureate and indigenous poet [a:Joy Harjo|267|Joy Harjo|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1253146717p2/267.jpg], this is an earthshaking investigation into the history of the US and the erasure and violence against the indigenous people and land. This is a collection where the rivers are the lifeblood of the land, people and poetry and each investigation is a trauma that shakes generations. ‘To read a body is to break that body a little,’ Diaz writes, and she puts her soul on full display in all its vulnerability.
‘You can rewrite but not unwright.’
While this is a call to engage with the history of the land, Diaz also holds space for hope, empathy, but especially love. With a whole oppressive history hanging over everything, there are gorgeous love poems that celebrate queer love and push back at the aggression such an intersectional identity is subjected to. The multiple narratives all join into an overarching cry for freedom and each poem will shake you to your core.
‘My country needs me, and if I were not here, I would have to be invented.’
Loneliness, love, frustration and revolutionary desire are all teeming within each page of this extraordinary collection. Natalie Diaz is a gem and I hope nothing but the best for her and can’t wait to read more of her work.
5/5
American Arithmetic
Native Americans make up less than
one percent of the population of America.
0.8 percent of 100 percent.
O, mine efficient country.
I do not remember the days
before America — I do not remember the days
when we were all here.
Police kill Native Americans more
than any other race. Race is a funny word.
Race implies someone will win,
implies I have as good a chance of winning as —
Who wins the race which isn't a race?
Native Americans make up 1.9 percent
of all police killings, higher than any race,
and we exist as .8 percent of all Americans.
Sometimes race means run.
We are not good at math.
Can you blame us?
We've had an American education.
We are Americans and we are less than 1 percent
of Americans. We do a better job of dying
by police than we do existing.
When we are dying, who should we call?
The police? Or our senator?
Please, someone, call my mother.
In Arithmetic and in America,
divisibility has rules —
divide without remainder.
At the National Museum of the American Indian,
68 percent of the collection is from the U.S.
I am doing my best to not become a museum
of myself. I am doing my best to breathe in and out.
I am begging: Let me be lonely but not invisible.
But in this American city with all its people,
I am Native American — less than one, less than
whole — I am less than myself. Only a fraction
of a body, let's say, I am only a hand —
and when I slip it beneath the shirt of my lover
I disappear completely.
‘It is hard not to have faith in this,’ Natalie Diaz writes in her 2021 Pulitzer Prize winning collection Postcolonial Love Poem. There is a deep faith in what is possible that permeates this collection despite the deep dives of poetic investigation of colonialism that afflicts both the national level but the individual level as well. This collection is a beautiful celebration of indigenous lives while also demanding a reckoning of the loss and erasure of a nation that was sacrificed for the one that now stands. Diaz wrestles with identity and the problematic aspects of publishing that demand performance from non-white writers. ‘It is real work to not perform / a fable,’ she says, acknowledging that ‘Americans prefer a magical Indian’ even when dipping into magical elements to bring nature and the land to life. This is an absolutely stunning collection that laments the loss of land and colonial genocide while engaging the reader to rise up and believe in a better future with atonement and love, and Postcolonial Love Poem is not only the perfect selection for immortalization through a Pulitzer Prize but a perfect collection of poetry as well.
‘Do you think the water will forget what we have done, what we continue to do?’
Divided into three sections and punctuated by thought provoking quotes by poetry giants such as [a:Mahmoud Darwish|75055|Mahmoud Darwish|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1414535868p2/75055.jpg] and current US Poet Laureate and indigenous poet [a:Joy Harjo|267|Joy Harjo|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1253146717p2/267.jpg], this is an earthshaking investigation into the history of the US and the erasure and violence against the indigenous people and land. This is a collection where the rivers are the lifeblood of the land, people and poetry and each investigation is a trauma that shakes generations. ‘To read a body is to break that body a little,’ Diaz writes, and she puts her soul on full display in all its vulnerability.
‘You can rewrite but not unwright.’
While this is a call to engage with the history of the land, Diaz also holds space for hope, empathy, but especially love. With a whole oppressive history hanging over everything, there are gorgeous love poems that celebrate queer love and push back at the aggression such an intersectional identity is subjected to. The multiple narratives all join into an overarching cry for freedom and each poem will shake you to your core.
‘My country needs me, and if I were not here, I would have to be invented.’
Loneliness, love, frustration and revolutionary desire are all teeming within each page of this extraordinary collection. Natalie Diaz is a gem and I hope nothing but the best for her and can’t wait to read more of her work.
5/5
American Arithmetic
Native Americans make up less than
one percent of the population of America.
0.8 percent of 100 percent.
O, mine efficient country.
I do not remember the days
before America — I do not remember the days
when we were all here.
Police kill Native Americans more
than any other race. Race is a funny word.
Race implies someone will win,
implies I have as good a chance of winning as —
Who wins the race which isn't a race?
Native Americans make up 1.9 percent
of all police killings, higher than any race,
and we exist as .8 percent of all Americans.
Sometimes race means run.
We are not good at math.
Can you blame us?
We've had an American education.
We are Americans and we are less than 1 percent
of Americans. We do a better job of dying
by police than we do existing.
When we are dying, who should we call?
The police? Or our senator?
Please, someone, call my mother.
In Arithmetic and in America,
divisibility has rules —
divide without remainder.
At the National Museum of the American Indian,
68 percent of the collection is from the U.S.
I am doing my best to not become a museum
of myself. I am doing my best to breathe in and out.
I am begging: Let me be lonely but not invisible.
But in this American city with all its people,
I am Native American — less than one, less than
whole — I am less than myself. Only a fraction
of a body, let's say, I am only a hand —
and when I slip it beneath the shirt of my lover
I disappear completely.
riveraanahiz's review against another edition
5.0
This is a masterpiece. This was such a phenomenal and interesting collection of poetry. Diaz uses epigraphs, italics, multiple languages, Biblical references, alliteration, repetition, and unique punctuation and structure to tell an interconnected story that is unlike any other I've ever read. These poems require you to think deeply, show a different perspective on life, and influence you to consider the various ways in which humans are spiritually connected to nature. She creates images that are homoerotic, sensual, and sometimes even comical. This work is simply stunning in my opinion. I definitely recommend it.