Surveille
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A01=Caitlin Roach
Age Group_Uncategorized
Age Group_Uncategorized
Author_Caitlin Roach
automatic-update
being watched
bodies
Category1=Non-Fiction
Category=DCF
control
COP=United States
Delivery_Pre-order
eq_bestseller
eq_biography-true-stories
eq_isMigrated=0
eq_isMigrated=2
eq_nobargain
eq_non-fiction
eq_poetry
family
female desire
intimacy
Language_English
love
motherhood
PA=Not yet available
poetry
political landscape
pregnancy
Price_€20 to €50
PS=Forthcoming
queer
softlaunch
state violence
surveillance
violence
watching
Product details
- ISBN 9780299351144
- Weight: 454g
- Dimensions: 152 x 229mm
- Publication Date: 12 Nov 2024
- Publisher: University of Wisconsin Press
- Publication City/Country: US
- Product Form: Paperback
- Language: English
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“It was breeding season, / wasn’t it, and they were running from something,” writes Caitlin Roach. Surveille’s queer speaker is on the cusp of motherhood, vacillating between attentiveness and paranoia, surveilling her body, civic bodies, natural and political landscapes, and the child she longs to bring into—and ultimately protect from—this hostile world.
Exploring drone strikes, scorpion eradication, bird behavior, mating deer, ICE detainees, and family relationships, Roach’s poems stare into and through the truth with a blazing intensity. She writes, “Still, I watch / the watcher watch me watch / the man standing in front of me / peering through the crosshatch / iron mesh, waiting for bodies / beloved he knows he cannot touch / to arrive on the other side.”
Surveille is a book about people under various forms of control (self-inflicted and external), about watching and being watched (by oneself, by others, by the state), about mothering, and about the desperate search for meaning in a world that feels increasingly violent and filled with despair.
Hold the husk.
Suck each bead out. There
are degrees of loss, speeds
at which pain travels
through the body. See,
even the rose neck’s bent. I do not
need to tell you I’m sick. I want to
be remembered for the absence
my body made in space.
—Excerpt from “Gardening, the mother gives her daughter a lesson on loss”
Exploring drone strikes, scorpion eradication, bird behavior, mating deer, ICE detainees, and family relationships, Roach’s poems stare into and through the truth with a blazing intensity. She writes, “Still, I watch / the watcher watch me watch / the man standing in front of me / peering through the crosshatch / iron mesh, waiting for bodies / beloved he knows he cannot touch / to arrive on the other side.”
Surveille is a book about people under various forms of control (self-inflicted and external), about watching and being watched (by oneself, by others, by the state), about mothering, and about the desperate search for meaning in a world that feels increasingly violent and filled with despair.
Hold the husk.
Suck each bead out. There
are degrees of loss, speeds
at which pain travels
through the body. See,
even the rose neck’s bent. I do not
need to tell you I’m sick. I want to
be remembered for the absence
my body made in space.
—Excerpt from “Gardening, the mother gives her daughter a lesson on loss”
Caitlin Roach is a queer poet from Southern California. Her poems have appeared in Narrative Magazine, Tin House, jubilat, The Iowa Review, Poetry Daily, Colorado Review, and Best New Poets (2023, 2021, and 2017), among other publications. She earned an MFA in poetry from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is a three-time National Poetry Series finalist. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their two sons.
