Chantry

In Chantry Elizabeth Treadwell reinspires old language. Her poems unlock the tongues of musty books (or Penguin reprints). Chantry is a ‘ diving into the wreck’ of longsilent dictions and myriad printed pages unread; it is a hymnal to back rooms of used bookstores and long untouched library shelves everywhere. It is one part elegy and two parts jubilation, with a twist. Chantry is a conference of sirens of all centuries, beginning with the writings of Christine de Pizan. It is handmade archaeology cum postfeminist treatise in which language has left the site of fragmented, multiple or intersubjectivity; instead, verbal interstices emit pure sonic abrasion. It sings itself and celebrates itself in an excess of devotion (and emotion) true to the American grain – but with the (Whit)mannish sprawling checked at every turn with a careful ruffle.