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Winter Here

Poems

Jessica Tanck
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About

In Jessica Tanck's debut collection, narrative and lyric converge to confront the marks left by violence, loss, and longing. Winter Here troubles the boundaries between home and the outside world, between reverence and terror, asking whether and where safety can be found in the wake of a mother's suicide. Both intimate and expansive, this collection revels in pleasure as much as it contends with pain. Whether studying the way a violinist is bruised in the act of playing, invoking the crush of ice around a ship's hull during a silence, or conjuring a crown of light surrounding strangers speaking in tongues, these poems are unflinching, imaginative, and relentless in their searching. By moving between the explicit and the oblique, pairing scorching imagery with razor-edged thought, Tanck evokes a history that haunts every word and place.

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Reviews

"Jessica Tanck's Winter Here is a deeply visceral and refreshingly unflinching collection. These poems do not shy away from hard truths as they deal with the specter of childhood and eventual coming of age through the lens of the death of an ineffectual mother and the lack of faith in adults and adulthood. These poems are set in a world that does not come with a set of instructions to guide us-eve
Travis Denton
"In Winter Here, Jessica Tanck explores home and all its shadows. From the magic hour of early morning and the ways secrets still make a sound to ads and reviews from the darknet, Tanck shows us two ways of seeing the world and also the reasons to look away. These poems wrestle with God and music, with cold darknesses and a fire we can walk through. They remind us of all the ways there are t
Traci Brimhall
"The darkness, as some know too well, transforms us. Pupils expand, trying to absorb any possible light. Touch and hearing sharpen. No surprise, then, the synesthesia that sparks up in Jessica Tanck's Winter Here, where the cold is 'a song like white noise, crackling / a throb down the spine of all I want, feel, or touch.' Where 'the air was a hand / that closed over / my mouth.' We get Tanck's ra
Corey Van Landingham

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