Finally, with begrudging acceptance, we have a hypothesis for all seasons: there is suffering, there is mercy they are not separate but are for and of one another. In loss and grief, in physical and psychological landscapes, Spencer searches the relationship between a woman’s body and her house―places where she is both master and captive―and hunts for the meaning of suffering. With the onset of a painful chronic illness, the body and mental geography turn hostile and alien. Spencer alternates between the clinical and the domestic, disorientation and reorientation, awe and awareness. Shadowing the trajectory of an elegy, this poetry collection of lament, remembrance, and solace wrestles with how we come to terms with suffering while still finding joy, meaning, and beauty. But her poems don’t explode, because there’s there’s too much going on in life to deal with an explosion or clean up its. In these alluring poems, myth becomes part of the arsenal used to confront the flaws and failures of our fallible bodies. Many of the poems in Hinge are about subjects that might lead the reader to expect outburst: poems about family disruption and dealing with chronic illness, about children and the endings and beginnings of things.
In myth and memory, through familiar stories reimagined, she constructs poetry for anyone who has ever stumbled, unwillingly, into a wilderness. Readers enter “a stunted world,” where landmarks―a river, a house, a woman’s own body―have become unrecognizable in a place as distorted and dangerous as any of the old tales poet Molly Spencer remasters in this elegant, mournful collection. Finding joy and beauty in the face of suffering.
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