Threat (Nine Arches, 2019)
The voice in this collection has blunt edges, like an axe that has hit hard surfaces. It's like speaking our exhaustion, exasperation, raggedness. It's open-ended like night is, something that bleeds out into dawn. I like the heat, the bloody execution in many of the poems about sex or drink or men. The poems feel anaphoristic what is this shiny wet'; 'small engines eating up the street.'
(going back to the beginning, worrying it, circling round it) even when they are not. This is a good. There is a pained way Webb has of speaking over silences, so that you feel them. When you speak across pain, the pain gets louder: 'Collapsing is like standing up in reverse'; you are settling and rising again at the same time.' This is a voice that 'stays by the door,' knows its own exits, and gives the texture of things and lets them speak: 'rain glues itself to the roofs shouting what is this shiny wet'
or that Saturday afternoon 'in front of the boxing' with her father 'the fug of smoke around his head.' These are the kinds of halos Julia Webb gives the world of things.
The voice in this collection has blunt edges, like an axe that has hit hard surfaces. It's like speaking our exhaustion, exasperation, raggedness. It's open-ended like night is, something that bleeds out into dawn. I like the heat, the bloody execution in many of the poems about sex or drink or men. The poems feel anaphoristic what is this shiny wet'; 'small engines eating up the street.'
or that Saturday afternoon 'in front of the boxing' with her father 'the fug of smoke around his head.' These are the kinds of halos Julia Webb gives the world of things.
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