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Slow War |
eBook Available
remember your body again / how cedar smells of god / and a Bach cantata / makes you almost / forgive / your hands.
Benjamin Hertwig’s debut collection of poetry, Slow War, is at once an account of contemporary warfare and a personal journey of loss and the search for healing. It stands in the tradition of Wilfred Owen’s “Dulce et Decorum Est” and Kevin Powers’s “Letter Composed During a Lull in the Fighting.”
A century after the First World War, Hertwig presents both the personal cost of war in poems such as “Somewhere in Flanders/Afghanistan” and “Food Habits of Coyotes, as Determined by Examination of Stomach Contents,” and the potential for healing in unlikely places in “A Poem Is Not Guantánamo Bay.” This collection provides no easy answers - Hertwig looks at the war in Afghanistan with the unflinching gaze of a soldier and the sustained attention of a poet. In his accounting of warfare and its difficult aftermath on the homefront, the personal becomes political.
While these poems inhabit both experimental and traditional forms, the breakdown of language channels a descent into violence and an ascent into a future that no longer feels certain, where history and trauma are forever intertwined. Hertwig reminds us that remembering war is a political act and that writing about war is a way we remember.
A century after the First World War, Hertwig presents both the personal cost of war in poems such as “Somewhere in Flanders/Afghanistan” and “Food Habits of Coyotes, as Determined by Examination of Stomach Contents,” and the potential for healing in unlikely places in “A Poem Is Not Guantánamo Bay.” This collection provides no easy answers - Hertwig looks at the war in Afghanistan with the unflinching gaze of a soldier and the sustained attention of a poet. In his accounting of warfare and its difficult aftermath on the homefront, the personal becomes political.
While these poems inhabit both experimental and traditional forms, the breakdown of language channels a descent into violence and an ascent into a future that no longer feels certain, where history and trauma are forever intertwined. Hertwig reminds us that remembering war is a political act and that writing about war is a way we remember.
Details
Part of the Hugh MacLennan Poetry Series (number 40 in series)
134 Pages, 5 x 7.5
ISBN 9780773551428
August 2017
Formats: Paperback, eBook
"We are occasionally lucky enough to encounter a writer we need, like Benjamin Hertwig, who offers solidarity while challenging our assumptions, who illuminates and shades our lives in surprising ways. After reading these poems I can’t imagine a world without them." John K. Samson, musician, editor, and author of Lyrics and Poems, 1997-2012
"In his quiet way, Benjamin Hertwig shows us the terror and wonder of being alive. Slow War is a powerful exploration of violence, longing, and the before and after of 'time and war and other old gods.' A profound and beautiful book." Deborah Campbell, winner of the 2016 Hilary Weston Writers’ Trust Prize for A Disappearance in Damascus
“I know of few books that deal with the experience of combat in such a humane and almost tender way. Benjamin Hertwig’s Slow War is a powerful and moving work of art.” John Skoyles, poetry editor of Ploughshares and author of Suddenly It's Evening
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was once called “soldier’s heart.” The term may not be scientifically precise, but it’s metaphorically apt. Benjamin Hertwig served in the Canadian Armed Forces in Afghanistan, and this hard-hitting debut collection is the record of a soldier’s heart, before, during and after war. The “before” poems have an elegiac sense of distance, while the combat poems have a jarring immediacy: the lines stutter and break into fragments. In “First Shot,” Hertwig writes of the confusing surge of emotion when he shoots at the driver of a taxi following their convoy too closely: “you’ve never felt this way before shame euphoria, the first/time you saw a body without clothes, your order was to shoot.” Poems about returning to civilian life bear poignant witness to how war has changed him: “When you returned from the war, you didn’t/think of the dead much. you wanted to be/a child again.” Toronto Star
“Hertwig touches on some of our deepest national myths, only to push in, breaking the veneer of patriotism to reveal something much more potent.” CV2
“In this collection, Hertwig remembers, in lyrical detail, moments of violence, fear, and respite. He traces violence from the schoolyard to war, and its aftermath for the soldier. The consequences of the indiscriminate violence of war are made delicate in spite of an uneasiness with making poetry of it.” Montreal Review of Books
“Written with searing clarity and massive heart, Slow War is narrative poetry at its best. Hertwig doesn’t need to proselytize on the mind-rearranging horrors of violence. His brutally-rendered sensory details, the truth, clearly get his point across. When it comes to Canadian war literature, Slow War is the new required reading.” Prairie Fire
"In his quiet way, Benjamin Hertwig shows us the terror and wonder of being alive. Slow War is a powerful exploration of violence, longing, and the before and after of 'time and war and other old gods.' A profound and beautiful book." Deborah Campbell, winner of the 2016 Hilary Weston Writers’ Trust Prize for A Disappearance in Damascus
“I know of few books that deal with the experience of combat in such a humane and almost tender way. Benjamin Hertwig’s Slow War is a powerful and moving work of art.” John Skoyles, poetry editor of Ploughshares and author of Suddenly It's Evening
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was once called “soldier’s heart.” The term may not be scientifically precise, but it’s metaphorically apt. Benjamin Hertwig served in the Canadian Armed Forces in Afghanistan, and this hard-hitting debut collection is the record of a soldier’s heart, before, during and after war. The “before” poems have an elegiac sense of distance, while the combat poems have a jarring immediacy: the lines stutter and break into fragments. In “First Shot,” Hertwig writes of the confusing surge of emotion when he shoots at the driver of a taxi following their convoy too closely: “you’ve never felt this way before shame euphoria, the first/time you saw a body without clothes, your order was to shoot.” Poems about returning to civilian life bear poignant witness to how war has changed him: “When you returned from the war, you didn’t/think of the dead much. you wanted to be/a child again.” Toronto Star
“Hertwig touches on some of our deepest national myths, only to push in, breaking the veneer of patriotism to reveal something much more potent.” CV2
“In this collection, Hertwig remembers, in lyrical detail, moments of violence, fear, and respite. He traces violence from the schoolyard to war, and its aftermath for the soldier. The consequences of the indiscriminate violence of war are made delicate in spite of an uneasiness with making poetry of it.” Montreal Review of Books
“Written with searing clarity and massive heart, Slow War is narrative poetry at its best. Hertwig doesn’t need to proselytize on the mind-rearranging horrors of violence. His brutally-rendered sensory details, the truth, clearly get his point across. When it comes to Canadian war literature, Slow War is the new required reading.” Prairie Fire
Benjamin Hertwig is a former member of the Canadian Armed Forces, a painter, and a PhD student at the University of British Columbia whose writing has recently appeared on NPR, in the New York Times, and won a National Magazine Award in 2017.
genesis 3
first kill 4
bush trails 6
weekend leave, Wainright to Edmonton 8
drunk-driving 9
emergent 17
night convoy, Kandahar 18
rumours, forward operating base Wilson 20
guard tower, Kandahar 21
ash wednesday, freedom chapel Kandahar 23
salat 24
first shot 25
somewhere in Helmand 27
three weeks’ leave, Germany 29
rooftop, Panjwai 30
somewhere in the desert 31
evening at a burnt-out school with the tenth
mountain division 32
skoal 33
easter sunday, forward operating base Wilson 34
fruit on a wooden table 35
a visit from the prime minister 37
care package, Kandahar 38
homeward 39
iconoclast 40
food habits of coyotes, as determined by examination
of stomach contents 41
tinnitus, or the drive-thru window when you return 47
vehicle in flame 51
young soldier 52
young boy 54
home again 56
apple-picking, after Afghanistan 57
winter buck 59
alternate 61
desire in sevens 62
a compendium of hands 64
july 22, 2006 69
portrait of a family friend in your bedroom, signed
camp Hallein (21/10/45) 70
May 2, 2011 75
the liturgical leap into monday, or some of the things
you wish you’d told your grandfather 76
rock picking 83
road race, christmas day 84
church going 91
poem for the dead after war 94
poem for the last time you wore your uniform 96
Otto after the war 100
somewhere in Flanders/Afghanistan 101
stigmata 103
for the soldier who slept across the hall 104
on teaching Tim O’Brien to an amateur hockey team 108
visiting the old farm, Alberta 110
stories you tell when you wish to love again 112
view from a slide you once slept under 115
sunday mornings 116
remember your body again 118
quiet 120
a poem is not Guantánamo Bay 121
exodus 123
Acknowledgments 125
first kill 4
bush trails 6
weekend leave, Wainright to Edmonton 8
drunk-driving 9
emergent 17
night convoy, Kandahar 18
rumours, forward operating base Wilson 20
guard tower, Kandahar 21
ash wednesday, freedom chapel Kandahar 23
salat 24
first shot 25
somewhere in Helmand 27
three weeks’ leave, Germany 29
rooftop, Panjwai 30
somewhere in the desert 31
evening at a burnt-out school with the tenth
mountain division 32
skoal 33
easter sunday, forward operating base Wilson 34
fruit on a wooden table 35
a visit from the prime minister 37
care package, Kandahar 38
homeward 39
iconoclast 40
food habits of coyotes, as determined by examination
of stomach contents 41
tinnitus, or the drive-thru window when you return 47
vehicle in flame 51
young soldier 52
young boy 54
home again 56
apple-picking, after Afghanistan 57
winter buck 59
alternate 61
desire in sevens 62
a compendium of hands 64
july 22, 2006 69
portrait of a family friend in your bedroom, signed
camp Hallein (21/10/45) 70
May 2, 2011 75
the liturgical leap into monday, or some of the things
you wish you’d told your grandfather 76
rock picking 83
road race, christmas day 84
church going 91
poem for the dead after war 94
poem for the last time you wore your uniform 96
Otto after the war 100
somewhere in Flanders/Afghanistan 101
stigmata 103
for the soldier who slept across the hall 104
on teaching Tim O’Brien to an amateur hockey team 108
visiting the old farm, Alberta 110
stories you tell when you wish to love again 112
view from a slide you once slept under 115
sunday mornings 116
remember your body again 118
quiet 120
a poem is not Guantánamo Bay 121
exodus 123
Acknowledgments 125
Author's website
Review in The Toronto Star
Author's interview on CBC - Out in the Open
Excerpt on CBC Website
Author's interview for CBC - Magic 8 Q&A
Review by Alex Assaly for Canadian Literature
Montreal Review of Books review by Tess Liem
Review in Prairie Fire by Noah Cain
Review in The Toronto Star
Author's interview on CBC - Out in the Open
Excerpt on CBC Website
Author's interview for CBC - Magic 8 Q&A
Review by Alex Assaly for Canadian Literature
Montreal Review of Books review by Tess Liem
Review in Prairie Fire by Noah Cain
Finalist
Governor General’s Literary Award for Poetry
The Canada Council for the Arts
2017
Shortlist
The Raymond Souster Award
League of Canadian Poets
2018
Winner
Stephan G. Stephansson Award for Poetry
The Writers' Guild of Alberta
2018
Governor General’s Literary Award for Poetry
The Canada Council for the Arts
2017
Shortlist
The Raymond Souster Award
League of Canadian Poets
2018
Winner
Stephan G. Stephansson Award for Poetry
The Writers' Guild of Alberta
2018
