He’s back, the old wanderer, that proto-dude, Bigfoot, and he’s as elusive as ever in the lyric wilds and shifting legends of Amy Pickworth’s marvelous poetry debut. For all the zip and multilayered textuality of her method, Pickworth displays one of the deepest, rarest lyric tactics: I mean, wit—not snark, not sass, not easy sarcasm or hip avoidance. I mean complex, good-willed, richly felt and joyful seriousness in her investigations of identity, gender, selfhood, and story. We may never capture the wily old wild-man, but in Bigfoot for Women, right in our midst, we’ve found a fine new poet.
This book is a kind of enchanted thicket.
I read a lot of books, and a lot of them I actually like, but this one I love. It makes me want to grow thick fur all over my body and go galumphing through the forest like a grizzly-elk-man-thing.
Tell everybody: Bigfoot is here. Bigfoot is real. Bigfoot is awesome. A wonderful promise in the wilderness of contemporary life.
REVIEW by Melissa Adamo in The Rumpus here.
REVIEW by Joanna C. Valente in Luna Luna here.