Killing Spree

In her urgent and harrowing 16th collection, Graham (To 2040) conveys her sense that “we are part of an occupation whose aims/ escape us.” Set in ravaged landscapes—mass graves, “leaf-emptied forests,” and “hollows filled with mercury & ash”—these poems of witness meditate on the limits of recollection: “Once I watch them drag/ the whole cuffed family/ out. I feel for my/ device. I feel the chill again. The frightening away of/ existence.” Pitilessness and compassion alternate: “There must be a record/ of what we’ve lived. Or that/ we lived. I don’t expect you to care.” Elsewhere, she invites surveillance: “Track me. Track my/ proclivities. Harvest me. My gaze is my gift. I give it, I give it to you/ freely.” Scenes of interrogation (“Avoid facial expressions while being assessed. Do not accidentally/ express/ yourself”) are answered by linked arms and raised voices: “We walked in unison. We prepared to sing. Soon/ we wld sing./ The earth was warm beneath our feet.” Rising from the ruins of “this buried world,” plaintive questions linger: “What can still/ be made?”; “is joy// a mistake now”; “is breathing still necessary/ here.” Ultimately, the poet interrogates herself: “What have I done.// Who will I become.” Timely and powerful, this is a masterful addition to Graham’s oeuvre. (May)