Ascent of the Mothers

Reflecting on transience, uncertainty, and acceptance, Kocot’s introspective latest (after God’s Green Earth) explores aging, mental health, and gratitude, as well as feelings of defenselessness amid global turmoil: “Mosses gather/ Around my legs in dreams,/ And the city seems far behind.// The light on my skin is bright/ And unforgiving.” Kocot animates the sensory subtleties of emotional experience—“That which/ Is barely audible still makes a slight/ Sound. The phosphorescence of cities,// The long tongue of evening licking the/ Wind”—while contending with existential dread in the present: “We must/ Lose ourselves in the indecipherable, we must/ Not care that we are living, and hum to a lighter voice.” The poet’s most satisfying verses are their pithiest: “I wrote the// Great American novel last night. Everything/ Is shattered, everything is breathing”; “I pray to be strong/ Like the ox, or like the ant/ Carrying two ants.” At times, Kocot’s semantics are opaque in a way that contributes to the overall sense of mystery but disrupts an otherwise clear narrative. These poems catalyze the reader to take pause and contemplate the sorrow and wonder of being human. (Nov.)