"I devoured these poems with such gluttony and relish, it astonished me. And I’m not someone who can read poetry quickly, which isn’t to say that I read these poems with the perfunctory glee with which I’d tear through a smutty, slow-burn romance, but for me and the speed at which I read poetry, I read fast.
Medium is a sweeping and powerful exploration of the lives of women who have shaped history in their roles as mediums—and mediums has a broad meaning here. Mediums for life, knowledge, science, spirituality: a medium can be a conduit to a great many things but also, the medium is a thing itself—not merely a means to an end.
I love the way the book is structured: with a brief introduction to the woman—just a paragraph—and then the poem follows. The poems, which are elegant and fierce and precise—can stand alone. I wouldn’t say they need the explanation for the feeling they convey to resonate, even if you know nothing about, say, Lalleshwari—a mystic from the 14th century—but from a narrative perspective, the explanations do help inform.
“I can say only that the heart repeats itself,
chides endlessly:
How then, if you knew?
I can’t explain it. Can say only the mind
tilts, trying; but there’s nothing
to slide toward or lie against, nothing to
uphold.
This excerpt is from “I Can’t Explain It I Can Only Say”, a poem about Cassandra, the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy, who was a favourite of Apollo and “promised the power of prophecy in return for complying with his desires.” But she didn’t comply after accepting the gift, and Apollo curses her, vowing that she will retain her gifts but no one will believe her. And no one does.
This excerpt is also an example of Skibsrub’s breathtaking, tripping, language: the way it skips along, halts, lilts, starts again—like a heartbeat or heartbreak, it depends.
Each poem in this collection reflects an exploration and excavation—the chest-compressing threat of confinement and a breathless flee-through-the-fields-at-dawn escape."