A 400-page collection of poems in fours sections: Nicki Minaj Songs, Bob Dylan Songs, Elliott Smith Songs, and 90s Riot Grrrls Songs.
I finally tore Bluets in half @ 12:50 a.m.
I had had enough of it, of its blueness…
I had begun to loathe its preciousness, its precision
What it represents -
Its fans, the copycats
What it had made of women, female writers;
The academia, the polishedness, the politeness.
I missed the messy.
I loathed it for being a finished book,
Laid out and finalized in this form now in hand,
All its desisions made for it
I couldn’t make one more desision
(I had forgotten momentarily how to spell “decision.”)
I couldn’t materialize an editor
(all editorial decisions had to be made by me!)
it was a blessing and a curse
(can you tell?!)
I had read earlier in the summer an interview with Grimes
She made being independent a record label or independent a producer
(I couldn’t remember the precise ways in which Grimes was independent,
Only that it was important that she was.),
Sound enviable, fashionable, fun!
I found it to be a headache
I couldn’t stop thinking of Grimes’ ex boyfriend
The long car ride from Toronto to Montreal
In which he hadn’t said a word
His current girlfriend, my friend, driving,
Myself and C and Tanja, muted by his intense
Sulking, in the backseat.
Later we watched a Grimes’ video
In which he was featured.
His head was shaved then, too.
There is no one making editorial decisions here.
Oh, can you tell?
“This was one hell of a Christmas gift. Reading Elizabeth Ellen’s poems, I’m reminded that the best literature screams, feels desperate, is written while wearing sweatpants and eating take-out alone and feeling ugly and rejected, unwanted. I’m reminded that social media writing, or the kind found buried within small press publication, is far more substantial than anything you’d ever read in The New Yorker. Reading Elizabeth Ellen gives me hope that every writer actually isn’t agent-obsessed and in search of commercial acceptance. Reading Elizabeth Ellen reminds me that the only actual point of literature is to make yourself and others feel less alone. That’s pretty much it. That’s pretty much enough.”
– Brian Alan Ellis
“I read these poems on my bathroom floor in the dark.”
– Amanda McNeil
“[The poems] feel like drawn-on Polaroids. Haiku delivered aloud by a rock frontwoman to a room of a thousand people forgetting to drink their drinks.”
– Amanda Goldblatt
“[Elizabeth Ellen] is the female Love Is a Dog from Hell.”
– Chloe Caldwell