Silencer

Starred review from August 21, 2017
Wicker, a National Poetry Series winner for Maybe the Saddest Thing, examines middle-class black American respectability politics in his second collection, taking aim at those who “gave up on the moon/ for a tweed suit &/ elbow patches” and engaging in an uncompromising self-interrogation. Disquieting humor abounds as the tensions of cultural and class assimilation are skillfully outlined in “Watch Us Elocute” or “Close Encounters,” which depict what “happens in gated spaces when you look like// a lock pick.” Stylistically, it’s Kendrick Lamar meets Marianne Moore; Wicker employs deft musicality and visceral metaphors to contrast American suburbia’s ideals with news of “the Rorschach splotches/ of cop-shot bodies you must stomach.” Wicker’s boldest gesture may be his unapologetic theological stance as he seeks to follow a “path to righteousness gone cold.” Deeply felt spiritual conflict in pastoral explorations such as “Deer Ode, Tangled & Horned” (“paradise/ or purgatory, depending/ on how I decipher my scripture”) contrast with the swagger of such pieces as “Ars Poetica Battle Rhyme for Sucker Emcees”: “I be the Anti-wack/ ODB. Big Baby Jesus,/ Osiris. Bet your wife/ might like it.” These fiercely lyrical narratives stand in the crosshairs of the political moment.

Starred review from August 1, 2017

In bold, brash, open-hearted poems delivered with satisfying sass, Wicker, author of the National Poetry Series-winning Maybe the Saddest Thing, reflects on simply being while black. A news story about a tied-up dog resonates painfully ("You see human/ interest piece, ...I see eclipsed casket"), jogging in the park inspires anxiety ("Sometimes, I can barely walk out/ into daylight wearing a cotton sweatshirt// without trembling"), and second guessing your every move becomes second nature ("Because my flat-billed, fitted cap/ cast a shady shadow over his shoulder in the checkout line. No, siree. See, I practice self target practice"). "Watch Us Elocute," a poem that exemplifies Wicker's way with titles, opens with a posh woman gushing over the poet's eloquence and leads to the massacre at the AME church in Charleston by a "throwback// supremacist Straight Outta Birmingham, 1963," concluding "None of us is safe." Wicker gets personal, too, ("think/ you're the first fool with a laptop/ to ever arrive at a blank screen/ & ask, is this enough?"), and one poem ends "O Lord, make me me," which is both caustically funny and emblematic of someone wanting to be himself in a society that makes it so very hard. VERDICT Highly recommended.

Copyright 2017 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

August 1, 2017

In bold, brash, open-hearted poems delivered with satisfying sass, Wicker, author of the National Poetry Series-winning Maybe the Saddest Thing, reflects on simply being while black. A news story about a tied-up dog resonates painfully ("You see human/ interest piece, ...I see eclipsed casket"), jogging in the park inspires anxiety ("Sometimes, I can barely walk out/ into daylight wearing a cotton sweatshirt// without trembling"), and second guessing your every move becomes second nature ("Because my flat-billed, fitted cap/ cast a shady shadow over his shoulder in the checkout line. No, siree. See, I practice self target practice"). "Watch Us Elocute," a poem that exemplifies Wicker's way with titles, opens with a posh woman gushing over the poet's eloquence and leads to the massacre at the AME church in Charleston by a "throwback// supremacist Straight Outta Birmingham, 1963," concluding "None of us is safe." Wicker gets personal, too, ("think/ you're the first fool with a laptop/ to ever arrive at a blank screen/ & ask, is this enough?"), and one poem ends "O Lord, make me me," which is both caustically funny and emblematic of someone wanting to be himself in a society that makes it so very hard. VERDICT Highly recommended.

Copyright 2017 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

Starred review from September 1, 2017
Few books of poetry will disarm readers, render them devastated, then just as easily restore a sense of passion and reverie as this collection by Wicker, a profoundly talented and inimitable author. Nearly every page deserves a dog-ear, filled as all are with unforgettable imagery, acoustic wordplay, and rich appreciation of cultural and literary history. Wicker's metamorphic style ranges from compassionate love song ( I watched / a neighbor braid intricate waves of cornrows / into her son's tiny head & could have lived / in her focus-wrinkled brow for a living ) to hip-hop's deft sense for sonic clusters ( desegregation sparks the awkward clutch / of Coach clutches on campus buses ) to a cornucopia of cultural references ( Dear Carlton & bronze sneaks / beneath a New Orleanian brass band / busking for spring breakers on Frenchman Street ). Throughout, Wicker not only invokes Melville and Keats as deftly as he cites Tupac Shakur and Kendrick Lamar; he often intertwines lines from each into the other, binding past centuries' canonical white writers to contemporary American rappers in a way that reinterprets and reinvigorates literary discourse. An indispensable volume for the future of American poetics.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2017, American Library Association.)