Alexis Popeâs first full-length collection, Soft Threat, first and foremost, could not be more appropriately titled. Sandwiched between an introductory quote from extrovert poet supreme, Anne Sexton, and ending with Pope herself admitting having to fake extroversion to navigate all the worlds she inhabits as human/poet/lover/partner/mother, is a series of intricate, introverted, and exquisite privacies laid bare so tenderly and honestly that one wonders where the âthreatâ in the title looms. Moving through the work, I realize Pope herself is the vulnerable, tender threat. She truth-knifes the reader with lines like, âI have these missiles/and no one to hold them,â and âthere are never/enough strawberries in my pockets/when i am trying to tell you that hell/is not where you think it is.â Each of the three sections in the book begins with lyrics from tracks of Holeâs âLive Through Thisâ album, and several poems are also titled after songs penned by Courtney Love. Reading Popeâs words against the backdrop of Courtneyâs persona, intensity, and reputation, these poems are little razorblades tucked into babydoll dresses. They are the stains on the silk before the Celebrity Skin makeover. They reverb. Pope rivals Sextonâs confessional verse and Loveâs outspoken sexual frankness with lines admitting to wanting âa good man/with diamonds/for his dick.â While some of these poems make us feel safe and small like âMoonrise Kingdomâ with its innocence and whimsy, this book isnât cute. Pope doesnât dial it down. Bedroom fantasyscapes, relationship failures, pregnancy, miscarriages, and what it means to move in and among this world as a female body are just some of the themes Pope tackles. She isnât afraid to get a little bloody in her subject matter and language. There is such an excellent balance both in terms of content and form in Popeâs work. Many poems are narrative and tight in their structure, while others become more blown apart on the page. In terms of speaker and voice, there is the I and there is the i. There is âfuckedoffnessâ and âcrotchbloom.â There is the beauty of âI felt a swan nest/in my navel & I gave you my high sap.â Popeâs poetry is the exquisite high sap, and I donât want to wash away the stick.
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