Alexandra Teague

for Or What We'll Call Desire

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Nicknamed "The American Venus,” Audrey Munson became the most famous sculptor’s model in American history during the early 20th century; she acted in silent films and conducted a public search for a “man as beautiful / as myself” before spending her final decades at the “St. Lawrence State Aslyum for the Insane.” Munson’s fame and her long fall provide a through-line for Teague’s passionate, quirky, righteously outraged third collection, where she joins older icons of women’s struggles. The Russian witch “Baba Yaga Appears in Intro to Feminist Theory”; Italian quarries and sculptors create “kneeling angels — / the most perfect marble — with bloody knees.” Teague, who teaches at the University of Idaho, makes her long sentences into exuberant pageants, part sex appeal, part enduring outrage, and by no means devoid of comedy: Strolling Fifth Avenue, she finds time to remark, “Man in a chicken suit, you’re the only one today / not selling beauty.” For the rest of us, she offers not only anger but sympathy, as Baba Yaga does for the dolls she addresses, trapped in a Disneyland exhibit: “What can you do about this world,” she asks, 'but wave and wave and wave and wave and wave?"

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—Stephanie Burt, The New York Times

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“Because without words what are we // but ourselves—inarticulate as the sky.” Teague’s poems, so often first anchored in singular moments, evolve into mazes of time and space, as with “The Giant Artichoke.” The narrator, thinking of herself as a child, remembers her mother reading highway billboards, her words filling the space left wide by grief. . . . Teague’s poems turn and turn, their lines moving about, I never feel lost in her work. One of my favorites in this accomplished collection is “Sketch: Charcoal and Body on Paper.” The narrator thinks about models—college students like her—“who posed for Beginning Drawing, / insecurity slipped off their shoulders / and draped over chairs.” She thinks about their “faces / when I’d pass them later in the hall, out of place, / too intimate to look at.” 

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—Nick Ripatrazone, The Millions,

Must Read Poetry: August 2019

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Shot through Alexandra Teague’s singular new collection is the knowledge that attention is an engine of both violence and tenderness, destruction and salvation. The women of art, history, fairytale, and our own fraught and tenuous present speak out from its pages: the watched have been watching, and they see all of the wretchedness and the wonder in the world around them. We still fall in love with what hurts us, they tell us—a truth at once burden, error, blessing, and necessity. This is an urgent and exacting book about the grace, and the cost, of survival.”        

—Molly McCully Brown

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Here's a great new performance of "The Meteorologist Receives More Letters Asking," composed by Ruby Fulton, based on my poem of that title, and performed by the Decho Ensemble (first piece in the program)