Songs from a Mountain

Amanda Nadelberg

These poems feel haphazard and jumbled to me, and I kept waiting to settle in and catch the flow of them. Instead I finished feeling like something logical and grounded had been cut apart and randomized so that there would be moments of insight followed by unexpected zags into something totally different. The experience is not wholly negative, as the moments of clarity have deep resonances. Or even just moments that feel like they are coming from somewhere purposefully bottomless, as memory was a gait as constant / as presumption in the age of the / vernacular.

There wasn’t one poem that stood about, but these were the most amount of lines that fit together to me:

from Of Oceans

In this that there will be no sounding some water

part of the world, the morning, without mistake

for sleep how else could they have claimed, bright

sweater, that you’re unfortunate, standing by a tower

daring the mad sea away.

When they put erotic under stone, a bed of hair became

the ocean; when the ocean transformed to another

as likely, I told you, go ahead and sing yourself.

And why, when I shut my eyes I see houses in fields

I can’t say; but know they are beautiful, lit from

within, song lamps, the heaven in the rooms on fire.