University Press of Colorado, 2023 eISBN: 978-1-885635-86-0 | Paper: 978-1-885635-85-3 Library of Congress Classification PS3601.R3896 Dewey Decimal Classification 811.6
ABOUT THIS BOOK | AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY | REVIEWS | TOC | REQUEST ACCESSIBLE FILE
ABOUT THIS BOOK Surreal yet earthbound, orphaned yet mothered more than most, comforting yet disturbing—Tommy Archuleta’s Susto surveys many settings: the body, the soul, the terrain the soul encounters upon leaving the body. But the setting is also the high desert landscape that is the poet’s northern New Mexico home, a land whose beauty today is as silencing and brutal as was the colonization of the region and her Anasazi descendants by Archuleta’s Spanish antipasados. In Susto, loss is everywhere to be found, though this work is not merely a concerted meditation on lament. Rather, it is part unearthed family album; part unlocked diary; part ode to motherhood and her various forms; part manual on preparing for a happy death; and part primer on the ancient art of curanderismo, whereby plants and roots are prepared for treating all manner of ills a mind and body might face.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY Tommy Archuleta is a mental health and substance abuse counselor for the New Mexico Corrections Department. His work has appeared in the New England Review, the Laurel Review, Lily Poetry Review, the Cortland Review, Guesthouse, and the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day series. A native of Santa Fe, New Mexico, he lives with his family on the Cochiti Reservation.
REVIEWS
“Susto is a whittled bone of a book, seething with marrow. In Archuleta’s realm, loss is not an abstraction, and grief is not simply a feeling. Instead, they inspirit every element of the external world (the wolf, the chokecherry tree, the window, the moth, the rose) and enfever the body, the mind, the dream, and the nightmare. The dead, here, are relentlessly unsentimental. They don’t just haunt. They live, unfettered by metaphor. The remedy/remedio comes through in ritual prose poems that serve as counterpoint to the sustos’ honed music. When it works, the specter becomes, once more, the beloved, though ‘[t]he fever it’s in us / for good . . . Just like the valley / Just like the moon.’ In Susto, Archuleta has delivered us back to the bottom-line sublime.” —Diane Seuss
“I love this haunting and haunted book by Tommy Archuleta. It offers entry into a dreamscape made of memory and symbol, inflected by the chapparal and dry mountain landscape of Northern New Mexico and his family’s long history of settlement in the region. In Susto, the veils between oracular vision and hallucination, the living and the dead, are thin to nonexistent. Yet even through grief and confusion, there’s an earthy, bemused quality to Archuleta’s voice, as he navigates being a soul tethered to a body, a world ‘where love / keeps rhyming everything // with loss.’ The formal rhythm of this book is striking: prose instructions for healing rituals weave in and out of suites of sharp-edged couplets, where poems speak the elemental tongue: canyon, horse, moon, river—father, mother, ghost, fever. Susto is an arresting debut.” —Dana Levin
“Tommy Archuleta’s debut, Susto, is alchemical, each poem a carbon print of something once there, now gone. Mother, dead. Father, dying. Trees, ‘downed by lightning.’ Moth, ‘wingless.’ Children, ‘gunned down.’ Rabbit, ‘flogged pillowcased.’ One loss transfigures into the next, creating a collection of ‘dark short songs / that are really one long dark song each.’ Archuleta writes, ‘Whatever you say here / dies twice the instant you say it,’ and so these poems become double elegies, first for the departed, then for the left-behind. Susto, Archuleta’s own ‘long dark song,’ is interrupted only by remedios, poems that break form and offer instructions for spiritual and practical care, remedies for the ‘magical fright’ of grief. You’ll need them: Archuleta’s haunted, incandescent poems move through you like fever.” —Jane Huffman
“A searing, unforgettable debut comprising poems that read like incantations for survival. Here are prayer-like words offered after every other prayer has failed. Here is a speaker deeply haunted by loss, as well as by our failed attempts to mend what is broken. These honed and urgent poems—somehow both unworldly and deeply rooted in the world—explore the limits of language, of ritual and belief, all the while seeking consolation for our inconsolable selves.” —Matt Donovan
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Contents
I
Again the first lamb
Look at your hands
What calm
Three hawks at the entrance
Bless the hands
Climb until the trees begin to thin
Tracks
One tree alive still for every three
If a higher one then a lower
Never burn
Remedio: San Antonio de Padua
First one then three
Rose petals
It was you the other day
You like not knowing
II
The blue jays and blackbirds
Another velvet painting please
A stone a leaf a stash of cranes
I never told you this but in one
All those faces
Love as seed or love as plow
Remedio: Añil del Muerto
I forget
From here these clouds must
From dust this hope
There
Most nights
Remedio: Preparación
Whatever you say here
III
This place
Say little knives
Her welcoming the first frost
To survive this side
Anymore I wake
My last days
You know the house
Remedio: Mimbre
Now with every Yes
Tell me again about
Tiny screams and wingbeats
When you get like this
Yell all you want
María Santísima
Remedio: Yerba de Víbora
IV
Remedio: La Llamada
What if hell isn’t a world
Please Lord
Mother blue
Vision after vision
What of the shrine to Jacob
My poor mirror
No humming flying out of
Another long night
Just like you said
He wrote the words Love
V
I keep asking but nothing comes back
I swear
I never know if it’s dawn
Remedio: Recuperación
inally
The hard candy yes
What if instead of praying
Black pearls
Remedio: Ocotillo
Same as you
Dear Ruin
There go the trees stirring
Afterword
Acknowledgements
REQUEST ACCESSIBLE FILE
If you are a student who cannot use this book in printed form, BiblioVault may be able to supply you
with an electronic file for alternative access.
Please have the accessibility coordinator at your school fill out this form.
University Press of Colorado, 2023 eISBN: 978-1-885635-86-0 Paper: 978-1-885635-85-3
Surreal yet earthbound, orphaned yet mothered more than most, comforting yet disturbing—Tommy Archuleta’s Susto surveys many settings: the body, the soul, the terrain the soul encounters upon leaving the body. But the setting is also the high desert landscape that is the poet’s northern New Mexico home, a land whose beauty today is as silencing and brutal as was the colonization of the region and her Anasazi descendants by Archuleta’s Spanish antipasados. In Susto, loss is everywhere to be found, though this work is not merely a concerted meditation on lament. Rather, it is part unearthed family album; part unlocked diary; part ode to motherhood and her various forms; part manual on preparing for a happy death; and part primer on the ancient art of curanderismo, whereby plants and roots are prepared for treating all manner of ills a mind and body might face.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY Tommy Archuleta is a mental health and substance abuse counselor for the New Mexico Corrections Department. His work has appeared in the New England Review, the Laurel Review, Lily Poetry Review, the Cortland Review, Guesthouse, and the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day series. A native of Santa Fe, New Mexico, he lives with his family on the Cochiti Reservation.
REVIEWS
“Susto is a whittled bone of a book, seething with marrow. In Archuleta’s realm, loss is not an abstraction, and grief is not simply a feeling. Instead, they inspirit every element of the external world (the wolf, the chokecherry tree, the window, the moth, the rose) and enfever the body, the mind, the dream, and the nightmare. The dead, here, are relentlessly unsentimental. They don’t just haunt. They live, unfettered by metaphor. The remedy/remedio comes through in ritual prose poems that serve as counterpoint to the sustos’ honed music. When it works, the specter becomes, once more, the beloved, though ‘[t]he fever it’s in us / for good . . . Just like the valley / Just like the moon.’ In Susto, Archuleta has delivered us back to the bottom-line sublime.” —Diane Seuss
“I love this haunting and haunted book by Tommy Archuleta. It offers entry into a dreamscape made of memory and symbol, inflected by the chapparal and dry mountain landscape of Northern New Mexico and his family’s long history of settlement in the region. In Susto, the veils between oracular vision and hallucination, the living and the dead, are thin to nonexistent. Yet even through grief and confusion, there’s an earthy, bemused quality to Archuleta’s voice, as he navigates being a soul tethered to a body, a world ‘where love / keeps rhyming everything // with loss.’ The formal rhythm of this book is striking: prose instructions for healing rituals weave in and out of suites of sharp-edged couplets, where poems speak the elemental tongue: canyon, horse, moon, river—father, mother, ghost, fever. Susto is an arresting debut.” —Dana Levin
“Tommy Archuleta’s debut, Susto, is alchemical, each poem a carbon print of something once there, now gone. Mother, dead. Father, dying. Trees, ‘downed by lightning.’ Moth, ‘wingless.’ Children, ‘gunned down.’ Rabbit, ‘flogged pillowcased.’ One loss transfigures into the next, creating a collection of ‘dark short songs / that are really one long dark song each.’ Archuleta writes, ‘Whatever you say here / dies twice the instant you say it,’ and so these poems become double elegies, first for the departed, then for the left-behind. Susto, Archuleta’s own ‘long dark song,’ is interrupted only by remedios, poems that break form and offer instructions for spiritual and practical care, remedies for the ‘magical fright’ of grief. You’ll need them: Archuleta’s haunted, incandescent poems move through you like fever.” —Jane Huffman
“A searing, unforgettable debut comprising poems that read like incantations for survival. Here are prayer-like words offered after every other prayer has failed. Here is a speaker deeply haunted by loss, as well as by our failed attempts to mend what is broken. These honed and urgent poems—somehow both unworldly and deeply rooted in the world—explore the limits of language, of ritual and belief, all the while seeking consolation for our inconsolable selves.” —Matt Donovan
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Contents
I
Again the first lamb
Look at your hands
What calm
Three hawks at the entrance
Bless the hands
Climb until the trees begin to thin
Tracks
One tree alive still for every three
If a higher one then a lower
Never burn
Remedio: San Antonio de Padua
First one then three
Rose petals
It was you the other day
You like not knowing
II
The blue jays and blackbirds
Another velvet painting please
A stone a leaf a stash of cranes
I never told you this but in one
All those faces
Love as seed or love as plow
Remedio: Añil del Muerto
I forget
From here these clouds must
From dust this hope
There
Most nights
Remedio: Preparación
Whatever you say here
III
This place
Say little knives
Her welcoming the first frost
To survive this side
Anymore I wake
My last days
You know the house
Remedio: Mimbre
Now with every Yes
Tell me again about
Tiny screams and wingbeats
When you get like this
Yell all you want
María Santísima
Remedio: Yerba de Víbora
IV
Remedio: La Llamada
What if hell isn’t a world
Please Lord
Mother blue
Vision after vision
What of the shrine to Jacob
My poor mirror
No humming flying out of
Another long night
Just like you said
He wrote the words Love
V
I keep asking but nothing comes back
I swear
I never know if it’s dawn
Remedio: Recuperación
inally
The hard candy yes
What if instead of praying
Black pearls
Remedio: Ocotillo
Same as you
Dear Ruin
There go the trees stirring
Afterword
Acknowledgements
REQUEST ACCESSIBLE FILE
If you are a student who cannot use this book in printed form, BiblioVault may be able to supply you
with an electronic file for alternative access.
Please have the accessibility coordinator at your school fill out this form.
It can take 2-3 weeks for requests to be filled.
ABOUT THIS BOOK | AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY | REVIEWS | TOC | REQUEST ACCESSIBLE FILE