Forest of Noise

The blistering and mournful second collection from Abu Toha (Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear) recounts the violence of the Israeli occupation that both he and past generations of his family have experienced in Gaza. In the book’s epigraph, he declares his unbreakable connection to his homeland: “Every child in Gaza is me./ Every mother and father are me./ Every house is my heart./ Every tree is my leg.” Abu Toha offers affecting firsthand accounts of life in a refugee camp (“a mother collects her daughter’s/ flesh in a piggy bank”) and of individuals listening to nearby explosions, powerless to protect themselves or their children. Even the wound over the decade-old loss of his brother is made newly fresh: “Now it’s 2024 and the cemetery you were buried in was razed by/ Israeli bulldozers and tanks. How can I find you now?” Grief is palpable and seemingly endless, striking to the very core of the poet’s identity: “I’ve personally lost three friends to war,/ a city to darkness, and a language to fear.” Abu Toha eloquently captures the brutality and urgency of the present moment. (Oct.)