Counter-Amores

Counter-Amores I.2 . Proof . Than brandished fire yet will I prove more strong - I burn unshaken, burn and die day-long. The hooked fish, torn, must learn to slip the bait Teasing the hook let go before too late. Not with you, but against you, love, I bruise My mouth, manage myself such pain I choose. I will this torment as I can’t will love From you or me - what can a body prove? Though neither yours nor love’s, still I’m a slave. Unite me from myself - I’m yours to have. Jennifer Clarvoe’s second book, Counter-Amores , wrestles with and against love. The poems in the title series talk back to Ovid’s Amores , and, in talking back, take charge, take delight, and take revenge. They suggest that we discover what we love by fighting, by bringing our angry, hungry, imperfect selves into the battle. Like a man who shouts for the echo back from a cliff, or the scientist who teaches her parrot to say, I love you, or the philosopher who wonders what it is like to be a bat, or Temple Grandin’s lucid imaginings of the last moments of cattle destined for slaughter, the speakers in these poems seek to find themselves in relation to an ever-widening circle of unknowable others. Yearning for the sweet cool hum of fridge and fluorescent that sang ‘home,’ we’re as likely to find fifty-seven clicks and flickering channels pitched to the galaxy. Song itself becomes a site for gorgeous struggle, just as bella means both beautiful and wars.