The French Exit

The French Exit

Elisa Gabbert

What a complex and lovely book this is! Reading Elisa Gabbert’s obsessively interior, technically rigorous poems is like listening in on the thoughts of a mind so fiercely observant and subtle that I find in them always some new twist, some surprising layer I hadn’t noticed before. By turns moving and witty, sharp-eyed and impressionistic, Gabbert writes with technical sophistication and keen intelligence. This is a terrific book.

Kevin Prufer

Buy: $12

What People Are Saying

Caroline Knox

It’s a pleasure to listen to the opinions of the narrator of The French Exit. Clear-eyed imagery and wit control the anxiety: “[A] boy at the counter disappears / or I can see through him.” Likewise, in a fine prose poem: “Do not be afraid of angering the birds. What angers the birds is fear.” The energy throughout Gabbert’s collection has the clip of the French exit itself – allons-y! – self-aware, self-sufficient, in control, in touch.

Noelle Kocot

Elisa Gabbert’s bold, confident, and unwavering poems pack a punch with every ending. They careen, dip and reverse. “It wants to keep / running forever, but / it can’t stop stopping,” she writes. Just when I think I want one of Gabbert’s poems to go on forever, it screeches to a halt, but it is the perfect halt. This is not easy to do, but Gabbert has mastered the art of making a poem.

Inside the Book

Category:
Poetry
Binding:
Perfect-bound 72 pp
Dimensions
8.8" x 5.9"
Publication Date:
April 2010
ISBN:
9780982617717

Reviews

Virginia Konchan

The Rumpus

Daniel Casey

Gently Read

Timothy Bradford

H_NGM_N

From the Book

Poem with a Threshold

	  			

In the grip of the NYC sublime

I fell in love out of boredom.

  

I left the party, thru the French exit

to the smaller one inside

  

where the cake said

I HAVE NO CONCEPT OF TIME.

  

Look into my image

distortion disorder and tell me

  

what you really feel, now

that you’re incomprehensible, Mr.—

  

tell me “what for.” I love you

but my arms are full.

  

I opened my face with the door.

Blogpoem After Walter Benjamin

	  			

Every time you reproduce a piece of art you remove some of its aura and that’s why your mix tape didn’t impress me much,

it was so fucking aura-less

                                             but in the film 

version of the novelization of this poem

I play myself but have fantastic breasts and there are probably some blood baths

and also when my fangy tooth catches on my lip men everywhere crumple
w/ the ecstasy and agony of it and really

who needs aura in your movie when you’re so hot it breaks people’s knees. 

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