Hub City Press
6 x 9
February 1, 2014
The poems in Pantry take their titles from kitchen objects. Some are common to most kitchens, like dishwashers and double boilers, and others are less common, like pie birds and olive pitters. The poems are not literally about these objects. Rather, the objects, or some aspect of them—a shape, a use, some minute detail—are landmarks in an interior domestic landscape. And few domestic landscapes are more interior than the pantry, a place where objects are laid aside for later use, sometimes years later or not at all. These are the things we hold on to, forget, and discover again. They are the things underlying our material lives. The poems in this book begin here, in the closely packed pantry, but then slip beneath the material objects to explore the domestic lives that spark, seethe, and sometimes explode around them.
- Winner of the New Southern Voices Poetry Prize
“The whisk and the pie bird, the skillet and spoon. In Pantry, Lilah Hegnauer exalts kitchen articles and utensils, their graspable measure of handles, solidity of copper, the comparative impermanence of their bodies in relation to ours. Like Stein and Ponge, Hegnauer uncovers the magical-and tremendously affecting-life of objects in each crenature, joint, and flange.” —D.A. Powell, author of Useless Lanscape, or A Guide for Boys
“Pantry is no Food Network test kitchen, no fusty closet of canned goods. Erotic, witty, smart, playful, these poems make the quotidian realm of objects an occassion for wooing, meditation, and praise. Think of the Gertrude Stein of Tender Buttons meeting Emily Dickinson ("Vesuvious at Home") in a throw-down match where what's at stake is the veracity and voracity of female desire, and you'll have a sense of the spell cast by this intoxicating wunderkammer of a book. ” —Lisa Spaar, author of Vanitas, Rough