Pink Museum - Caroline Crew

Pink Museum - Caroline Crew

12.00

100 Pages
5.75″ x 7.75″ 
ISBN: 978-1-941985-03-8
Release: December 20, 2015

In Pink Museum—the not-so-imaginary space where girls are permitted to talk—Caroline Crew grapples with claiming a voice and claiming literary mothers. Influenced by the sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Pink Museum transforms Victorian meter into a jagged contemporary howling. Crew pushes the lyric until it cracks, asking who gets to address to who, and what it means to be a woman poet speaking.

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Complicated and beautiful
— Brooklyn Magazine

PRAISE FOR PINK MUSEUM

"In acts of ventriloquism, paradox and response, Crew delivers a fiercely personal poetry aimed to disrupt and do damage. She admits This is the finite kingdom/your heart has made and she teases out and tunes accordingly in a voice ready to say I think he has mistaken me/for the angel of television. Father, mother, sister, self are never slighted, always foremost where in the pink museum we have no footsteps. One fumbles through the pages of this book, heart-hurt, soul-shattered, mind-agitated, stumbling upon what we do have instead. PINK MUSEUM is a quintessential debut." 
-Dara Wier
"I love Pink Museum, its romance and heartbreak, its feminism and femininity. Wildly attuned to the power of language to cross boundaries between the living and the dead, Caroline Crew writes poems that mix Victorian ideas with twenty-first century speech and vice versa. Her sharp, appealing lines regard past centuries as "the imprint our teeth would leave / in time, could a lady bite," sounding a smiling, quiet threat I adore. This is a marvelous book from a brilliant new voice in poetry." 
-Heather Christle
"What appears lost or dead is not static. This is no rote post-confessional glimpse into the private life of its speaker, but a nearness, a heat and thrum obvious to a reader's outstretched palm. Benedictions weighed before receipt, the necrophilic thrill of art, come and go of continents. Bramble and manners placing us near the breast, before the scrim, often interrogating the relationship between whiteness & transparency. & despite the fact that we're never really making contact, you cannot seal a portal. Not with garbage, words, nor naked labour. We die, elegant or not. In a pink museum, what once was epoch & lover. Dear friends I'm in this welcome dark." 
-Danielle Pafunda