The 44th of July

The third collection from Bolina (Phantom Camera) is rich with the voices of those who have been made to feel “other” in America. A twist on the classic Greek chorus comes together to challenge hegemony: “I arrived in via wormhole,/ via subspace, via mother ship descending, in a snap-button/ sarong, in a denim sari, in my ten-gallon turban, I look/ so authentic you’d almost believe it’s the 44th of July.” Each of these free verse poems is its own spinning zoetrope or miniature stage play, with nods to speculative fiction, international conflict, and wars both cultural and militarized: “I’ll pass dapper as a Dixie lawyer. If anybody asks, Where/ is he from? Bunny, tell her Baton Rouge, or say South Carolina./ If anybody asks, Where’s he really from? meaning the Rangoon/ Nebula, meaning the seventh moon of Guadalajara/ or the ice planet Karachi, tell him I come in peace or I pledge/ allegiance.” Sonically powerful and careful in their word choice, these poems create a musical texture throughout. This strength can, in moments, bog down the book, with soundplay overtaking meaning and agile political takedowns. Still, Bolina’s poems are acute, playful works that precisely capture the surreality of our current political moment. [em](Apr.) [/em]