Publisher's Synopsis
Poetry. Like a secret date with Lizzie Borden, these moody lyrics thrill as they incriminate. SKIN HORSE shows that history is a crime scene, and that crime is theatrical, rife with costumes, masks, hats, props, weapons, scripts, dialogue, wooden scenery and dreamlike reenactments. These poems are anachronistic yet uncannily alive, furtive yet frank like an incriminating note forgotten in an apron pocket. Cronk locks words together like a lace collar which flutters attractively even as it tightens at the reader's throat. She writes, with velvet trim / in the whistle of seeing. She writes, Is it too untoward to say Please Go Back to Normal Life? She writes, Gotta nest of woe a nest of wail / and pardon my tied-on prom.
If 'the wind cries Mary' sounds to you more like 'The ring pulsed Maria' then you have your ears tuned to Cronk's idiosyncratic sonics. You can't be overtly prepared for Cronk's directions, all you can do is gladly if a little hesitantly follow the paths her word combinations offer: 'Back in the city in chains........ trees typewritering....... I am indeed a nurse.' SKIN HORSE will stimulate some neurons to try some new actions, to scare up some gathering, to be thrilled to be amongst her magnifications.--Dara Wier
Welcome to SKIN HORSE: Olivia Cronk's topographical map of a version of the world in which deformed humans squirm through the muck of a mutilated nature: a burning zone of mechanical, brain-dripping horrors, a degraded rendering of the extreme consequences of natural and corporal decay.--Daniel Borzutzky
