My Own Name Seems Strange to Me

Karen Whalley's second book is a compelling account of domestic fragmentation, isolation, and loss. At its core are twin wounds-- the death of a father and the end of a marriage-- and the struggle to define oneself in the ensuing absences. At the same time, these poems are teeming with lucid vitality and life, from the frail perfections of butterfly wings to the strangeness of an elk in traffic. Both quiet and profound, spiritual and searching, Whalley's transcendent collection bravely questions the nature of self, and finds joy-- a kind of answer-- in the most unexpected of places.