‘I Say the Sky’ Review: Colburn’s Authenticity Lends Her Poetry Relevance

In the postscript of her upcoming poetry collection “I Say the Sky,” Nadia H. Colburn ’95 references what she calls a “misconception” that the “inner work of self-encounter is solitary, purely personal.” However, by this point in the work, readers may find themselves wondering whether this assertion itself is so misconceived. Although “I Say the Sky” finds moments of delightful imagery, emotional impact, and global relevance, its overwrought formatting and the opacity of Colburn’s subject matter too often give poems, many of them written when Colburn “woke with the dawn, or after meditating,” the reflexive feel of journal entries in a way that suggests lazy writing more than vulnerability.

That being said, Colburn’s fluid style lends itself well to an ambitious work that handles the most personal violations and miracles of the individual body alongside the broadest, most universal themes of the present moment. Colburn’s deft handling of these fraught issues allows her to connect with the reader even when her form is somewhat lacking. Although “I Say the Sky” sometimes falls short as a work of poetry, its inspired content and unquestionable relevance make it a worthwhile read.

Much of the power of “I Say the Sky” lies in the lurking, looming implication of violence in the speaker’s past. The combination of the shadow of trauma and the threat of disaster in the future — most often taking the form of climate disaster, though the threat of mortality and daily personal failure are also present throughout — creates a tension that keeps the reader engaged. The consistent motif of childbirth also keeps attention squarely on the female body, consciously making the feminine public in a way that implies violence.

But the dangers are confined to just beyond the range of where the speaker will allow the reader to go. Limiting violence and disaster to passing remarks allows the collection to be described as “empowering,” but also diminishes its effectiveness, which is in its vulnerability. From short, simple poems such as “Outside the Sparrows Are Awake” to longer poems such as “And the Small Body,” a consistent theme of Colburn’s more memorable pieces is her willingness to venture into raw, personal territory. Although a poetry collection is not a memoir, and Colburn should by no means be required to pull in her readers with confessional poetry, Colburn’s imagery and diction don’t always succeed at making the poems compelling without a strong personal angle. Compared to the more autobiographical sections, Colburn’s nature observations and climate anxiety feel general at best.

Furthermore, references to “the body of the rebel soldier” and “the wide savanna” in “What We Are Taught” weaken the collection’s otherwise strong case for making domestic trauma, anxiety, and joy the domain of public discussion and appreciation. The sporadic references to global issues imply that personal reflection, the primary focus of the collection, is not on its own a worthy topic. “I Say the Sky” has many of the ingredients of a powerful, important work of poetry, but the collection hurts its own cause when it attempts to bolster its message by drawing in other themes which are no less important, but are not as clearly linked to the rest of the collection.

Without much poetic flourish beyond detailed visual descriptions and creative indentation, it is difficult to appreciate “I Say the Sky” beyond an acknowledgment of its content’s importance. In the postscript, Colburn mentions encountering “violence and a violation,” which hints at the collection’s portrayal of trauma — but the ambiguity of its representation may leave the reader confused.

“I Say the Sky” is nevertheless a haunting, memorable, and highly enjoyable read. Its tone is varied, its pacing satisfying, and its themes of family, trauma, and human unity lend the work a certain gravitas. Even if these poems are unlikely to “become part of your own inner, and outer, dialogue and engagement” — which Colburn states is her aim — they are nevertheless worth reading, and they hit the mark at least as often as they miss.