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Sirs & Madams
A coming of age story centering around three sisters. The events begin from the present moment, working their way backwards to their births. Narrated through disjointed poems and different perspectives, the book explores what haunts the sisters & what propels through life, or sets them back.
- GenresPoetry
75 pages, Paperback
First published September 7, 2014
About the author
Joanna C. Valente
27 books70 followersJoanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York, and is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015), Marys of the Sea (The Operating System, 2017), Xenos (Agape Editions, 2016), and Sexting the Dead (Unknown Press, 2018). They are the editor of A Shadow Map: An Anthology by Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM, 2017). Joanna received a MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College, and is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, a managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine and CCM, as well as an instructor at Brooklyn Poets.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
February 27, 2015
Joanna C. Valente's Sirs & Madams is a stellar collection of poems that confidently coheres into a unique narrative about death and life (in that order).
The larger story unfolds in four sections that correspond to the passing seasons (in reverse), but each of these poems could easily stand on its own. The imagery employed is desolate and stark; the feel is flat-out haunting.
There is also a palpable ambiguity to these pieces that draws the reader in immediately and deeply. This makes for the best kind of poetry when done well - and this book is extremely well done.
Being left with the feeling that mysteries should remain unsolved - or murky at best - is a sure sign that the poems are wildly succeeding. This is a book that will be revisited and it deserves to be.
The larger story unfolds in four sections that correspond to the passing seasons (in reverse), but each of these poems could easily stand on its own. The imagery employed is desolate and stark; the feel is flat-out haunting.
There is also a palpable ambiguity to these pieces that draws the reader in immediately and deeply. This makes for the best kind of poetry when done well - and this book is extremely well done.
Being left with the feeling that mysteries should remain unsolved - or murky at best - is a sure sign that the poems are wildly succeeding. This is a book that will be revisited and it deserves to be.
September 18, 2023
The disjointed poems in this book create a vivid and lyrical portrayal of life, death, and the human body. It's a haunting yet grounding exploration that leaves a lasting impression and I really enjoyed the different sisters perspectives, it made me feel more connected to them on an emotional level.
June 11, 2018
This is the book that made me fall in love with Joanna C. Valente's work.
December 23, 2014
THIS REVIEW FIRST APPEARED ON THE COMPULSIVE READER, http://www.compulsivereader.com/2014/...
Joanna C. Valente speaks of death in her collection of poems, Sirs and Madams. The poems remind us that we are wrong—dead wrong—if we think of death only as something that happens when life ends. This reminder weaves its way throughout the book and is most poignant when Valente writes about relationships. The stories within the poems are told by “three sisters dangerous as swans, broken into a hundred versions of themselves depending on which day of the week” (Tell Them They’re Dead, 75). The sisters are Tessa, Marianne and Maggie.
Using the sisters as different personalities, Valente navigates the intricacies of relationships. She writes, “I imagine him as you in this bed claiming your territory, naming yourself” (Your Guts are Like Mine, 31). Here we see the body as analogous to a conquered land that is pillaged and its parts named by the lover who is the colonizer. In the same poem, the narrator (Tessa) writes, “Next morning you drew a map for me to get back to my part of Brooklyn—told me to get home safe—code for something else” (31). Valente recalls this illusion of safety in The Boys Who Died, “They were saving up money like all good boys do, to marry women like them, a safe brutality” (21). The poem equates death with a union that is not working.
Valente attempts to make sense of the mess of life. She appears acutely aware of the futility of this goal, knowing that life does not always make sense. Thus she pushes on, writes through the mess. Some of the poems touch on the life of a favorite uncle, who the narrator calls “my other father,” and who dies of cancer. The death inspires the verse “Somebody’s rib cage opened/ inside mine/ while I lit a candle” (Tessa Remembers His Funeral, 27). The light here illumines the soul of the sufferer, encumbered by pain.
Similar to the story of the favorite uncle, Sirs and Madams relates tales of characters and community familiar to the writer but that were not ideal. Valente writes, “Mama told us the neighbors hadn’t woken up in nearly a hundred years” (Maggie Recall the Birds, Part 1, 24). Touching on the issue of sexual identity, Valente writes, “Paul told her he wanted to a be a dancer, rent an apartment in the city with a dog & a man�� (Paul & Marianne, 58). Many of the poems capture the desire to move to a place where one can fully be who one is. “In night’s dark, you drive to the diner; you aren’t even hungry, it’s just the only place to go besides an empty parking lot” (Road Trip, Or, How Maggie Learned to Love Her Feet, 35).
Other than seeing the sisters as sisters, I think it works best to see them as parts of the author’s personality. Isn’t all literature autobiographical? Thus, a close reading of Sirs & Madams gives a fuller understanding and appreciation of the magnitude of the task Valente took upon herself, in writing the book. She begs us look into her life and mind and see the complexes therein. She succeeds in drawing us in. Can we ever get out? Maybe Valente will tell us in her next book. In the meanwhile, do yourself a favor and read Sirs & Madams.
Joanna C. Valente speaks of death in her collection of poems, Sirs and Madams. The poems remind us that we are wrong—dead wrong—if we think of death only as something that happens when life ends. This reminder weaves its way throughout the book and is most poignant when Valente writes about relationships. The stories within the poems are told by “three sisters dangerous as swans, broken into a hundred versions of themselves depending on which day of the week” (Tell Them They’re Dead, 75). The sisters are Tessa, Marianne and Maggie.
Using the sisters as different personalities, Valente navigates the intricacies of relationships. She writes, “I imagine him as you in this bed claiming your territory, naming yourself” (Your Guts are Like Mine, 31). Here we see the body as analogous to a conquered land that is pillaged and its parts named by the lover who is the colonizer. In the same poem, the narrator (Tessa) writes, “Next morning you drew a map for me to get back to my part of Brooklyn—told me to get home safe—code for something else” (31). Valente recalls this illusion of safety in The Boys Who Died, “They were saving up money like all good boys do, to marry women like them, a safe brutality” (21). The poem equates death with a union that is not working.
Valente attempts to make sense of the mess of life. She appears acutely aware of the futility of this goal, knowing that life does not always make sense. Thus she pushes on, writes through the mess. Some of the poems touch on the life of a favorite uncle, who the narrator calls “my other father,” and who dies of cancer. The death inspires the verse “Somebody’s rib cage opened/ inside mine/ while I lit a candle” (Tessa Remembers His Funeral, 27). The light here illumines the soul of the sufferer, encumbered by pain.
Similar to the story of the favorite uncle, Sirs and Madams relates tales of characters and community familiar to the writer but that were not ideal. Valente writes, “Mama told us the neighbors hadn’t woken up in nearly a hundred years” (Maggie Recall the Birds, Part 1, 24). Touching on the issue of sexual identity, Valente writes, “Paul told her he wanted to a be a dancer, rent an apartment in the city with a dog & a man�� (Paul & Marianne, 58). Many of the poems capture the desire to move to a place where one can fully be who one is. “In night’s dark, you drive to the diner; you aren’t even hungry, it’s just the only place to go besides an empty parking lot” (Road Trip, Or, How Maggie Learned to Love Her Feet, 35).
Other than seeing the sisters as sisters, I think it works best to see them as parts of the author’s personality. Isn’t all literature autobiographical? Thus, a close reading of Sirs & Madams gives a fuller understanding and appreciation of the magnitude of the task Valente took upon herself, in writing the book. She begs us look into her life and mind and see the complexes therein. She succeeds in drawing us in. Can we ever get out? Maybe Valente will tell us in her next book. In the meanwhile, do yourself a favor and read Sirs & Madams.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews