Danielle Hanson's second book, Fraying Edge of Sky, won the 2017 Codhill Poetry Press Award. Order here or from Amazon or local booksellers.
The beautiful and fanciful investigations in Danielle Hanson’s Fraying Edge of Sky are homages to magical realism but are also lyrical bursts in splendidly gilt frames. The precise language of the poems conjures up the overlooked details of a world that, in its hurry, will miss them. The light in a bucket of water, the ribbon-like fog, the small mice who are angelic in their infestations—all are an inventory of the miraculous that Hanson’s truly original voice urges us to hear and to hold close.
-Oliver de la Paz, author Requiem for the Orchard
Danielle Hanson’s Fraying Edge of Sky traps the sun with mirrors, drowns the moon, staples spiders to the sky. There are strategies and curses, negotiations of light and dark, and, throughout, an ever-thickening swarm of angels that collide, that turn to blood, that infest. Photographs are empty, and even those emptinesses are deleted, leaving new emptinesses that are filled by a relentless drive to see things simultaneously as they are and what they intend to be. A lizard pretends to be a stone, but we still know it is a lizard; it is the pretending that strikes us. This is the heart of Hanson’s poetry: artifice that shows the truth.
-Bradley Paul, author Plasma
Dismantling worlds only to rebuild them anew, Danielle Hanson’s poems, little worlds made cunningly, as Donne would call them, expose the surrealism behind the most ordinary things. Take the tailor who “starts by sewing the fraying / edge of sky to a rock” and begins sewing a whole menagerie until he “creates / a daytime field of constellations, / embroidery of a new creation.” New indeed. These are visions like none other and if you want to see with the kind of fourfold vision Blake suggests, this original, this most precious of books is for you.
-Richard Jackson, author Broken Horizons
I come to lyric poetry with eyes shaped in part by the experience of watching spring storms roll across the high plains at night, deep darkness (especially when the power went out, as it often did) punctuated by flashes of daylight. That is what I hope for in a collection of lyric poetry – both the darkness (complete with the loss of power) and the moments of illumination. In this collection, Hanson delivers.
Short, demanding, haunted poems, an edgy, dark dismantling of sentimentality, and “opposite of nirvana,” a curse “to smite the wicked” that hold up Rilke’s “every angel is terrible” as a motto
-Jami Macarty, author of Instinctive Acts
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