Items related to Greater Ghost (Stahlecker Selections)

Greater Ghost (Stahlecker Selections) - Softcover

Collier, Christian J

 
9781961897106: Greater Ghost (Stahlecker Selections)

Synopsis

In Christian Collier's debut poetry collection, Greater Ghost, this extraordinary Black Southern poet precisely stitches the sutures of grief and gratitude together over our wounds. These pages move between elegies for private hauntings and public ones, the visceral bereavement of a miscarriage alongside the murder of a family member, and the specter of police brutality. With a profound awareness of literary tradition, Collier enters into the American canon and dialogues with Black Southern noir--a poem like "Beloved," whose title expresses not only a genuine tenderness in its term of endearment but invokes Morrison, contextualizes this book within the legacy of racial injustice in the U.S., presenting again the prolific losses and disproportionate Black mortality across time, and yet remembers the resilience of love and transformative possibility of self-actualization from inside tragedy.

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About the Author

Christian J. Collier is a Black, Southern writer, arts organizer, and teaching artist who resides in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He is the author of Greater Ghost (Four Way Books, 2024) and the chapbook The Gleaming of the Blade, the 2021 Editors' Selection from Bull City Press. His works have appeared in December, Hayden's Ferry Review, North American Review, The Michigan Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. A 2015 Loft Spoken Word Immersion Fellow, he is also the winner of the 2022 Porch Prize in Poetry and the 2020 ProForma Contest from Grist Journal. More about him and his work can be found at www.christianjcollier.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Men in My Family Disappeared

behind horsefly-laden air & escaped the truth of the hearse. 
We shot baskets in our black suits

before the funeral, the gospel was in the rumble of the missed shot 
shivering off the backboard,

the soft moan of the free throws that fell 
perfectly between the pursed lips of the rim.

Our laughter painted the dark-tinged sea between us, channeled 
out from some urn inside the thicket of our organs.

I can’t say if any of us knew where the body goes exactly 
once it sifts through the salted colony of the skin, but I know

in the South, we sacred all we can to stay living, holy what is ours 
before some rabid hand wrestles it away.

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