Scattered Snows, to the North

I have long been a fan of Carl Phillips. In his latest collection Scattered Snows, to the North, he has once again proven himself to be a maestro of eloquence and virtuoso of all matters of the heart. I can honestly say that this is my favorite book of his yet. His thoughts on memory, the passage of time, nature and dreaming all resonated with me in a way that I will not only be recommending it to customers in the store, but my friends and family may very well find themselves receiving copies as gifts!

Poetry is unknowable, and that unknowability and indefinability is what draws us to it, I think. Every time you read a poem, you read it and see it and hear it a little bit differently. This is particularly the case with Carl Phillips' multilayered poems in this collection. They merit slow, thoughtful readings and re-readings. I'll let the poet's words speak for themselves with a few short excerpts:

"Sunlight in Fog": - how the river, running always away / the way rivers tend to, stands as proof that reliability / doesn't have to mean steadfast
"Artillery": the thunderclouds had begun clambering over / the mountains like sluggish bears just done wintering
"Little Winter": If someone / dreams about you, does it keep you alive? - to which / the only good answer is, In the end, will it matter?
"Heroic Interval": Above him, a bewilderment / of black swans pulling their bodies across a band / of nightfall
"Searchlights": finding shape first, then meaning, the way smoke does

And particularly this passage from "If Grief is Mostly Private and Always Various":
As for the sea, where's that sound now, that the snow made
in black and white, falling into it, the snow like words from
a severed head held aloft, upside down, and shaken -

But my favorite poem in the book is "Yes", and it here is how it ends:
You can treat the past
like a piece of fine glass to see yourself
reflected in; or to see through.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for providing this eARC for unbiased review. This review will be cross-posted to my social media accounts closer to the book release date.

This was my first time reading Carl Phillips and the entire time it felt as though I were in the room hearing him consider these words before etching them into the pages. The way he writes about love… and furthermore- loss and life after love is painfully reminiscent and heartbreakingly understandable.
Anyone who has loved and lost knows the emotions and cycles of questioning and remembering and wishing you could forget only to want to long for the memories again- will find company in this collection.

“I need you
The way astonishment,
Which is really just

The disruption of routine
Requires routine”
- Western Edge

“I keep my best to myself; my worst
Also. I think the truth
Lies elsewhere”
-Somewhere it’s still Summer

Thank you Carl Phillips, NetGalley, and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the opportunity to read and review this collection

“even your mistakes were delicate.”

i strongly believe that we can find a poetry book that speaks to us, where you can almost hear their voices without needing the audio, as the lines flow smoothly in your mind. rarely do i feel this connection with a poetry collection, and when i do, it instantly becomes a new favorite of mine. reading carl phillips’s poems resonated deeply with me, despite not experiencing the same situations. i couldn’t comprehend how these poems effortlessly flowed through me, as if they were reading me whole. indeed, it’s a privilege for me to have read this collection in advance, but also unfortunate that i couldn’t share more of it. however, each poem struck a chord with me, like an album without skips.

each poem reflects distinct feelings intertwining with each other. the title ‘scattered snow, to the north’ felt perfectly fitting for this collection because the poems seemed like abandoned pieces of words trying to find their way back to you. they’re cold, almost withered, yet full of longing. the incorporation of nature in each poem also felt natural and genius. it didn’t feel forced to sound overly metaphorical, and it evoked similar feelings to what mary oliver’s works have done for me (although i’ve only read a few of her works).

thank you fsg & netgalley for this e-arc!