“Ángel García’s Indifferent Cities has the feel of an epic journey: a quest for a return, to find a family, to find a name, a history, an identity.”
—Daniel Borzutzky, winner of the National Book Award for Poetry
WINNER OF THE INAUGURAL
HELENA WHITEHILL BOOK AWARD
To read Indifferent Cities is to linger in “mud strewn” memory, ears pressed to the earth, listening to what courses underneath. As I read, I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. What I was holding on to: my own lost languages, my own lost fathers. This book, put simply, bewildered me and broke me apart. As the poet writes: “I try to remember what I’ve never known.” Verdant with visceral imagery and inventive form, Indifferent Cities seeks out ghosts: the ghosts of familial mythologies, the ghosts of displacement, the ghosts of language, of loneliness. From the very first poem, we feel the speaker’s longing to know: “my mother pours stove-warmed water over / my back to console me for what I can’t understand.’ I know that stove-warmed water intimately. In Indifferent Cities, we enter the vast arteries of the speaker’s interiors. We zoom in so close, we can feel the aching jaw. From “Friday Night”: “for my father leaping up from the couch to grab him, if not / for my father smelling my brother’s breath, their faces / so close I could have mistaken it for a kiss.” These poems are also formally and sonically felt—via grayscale (faint etchings), contrapuntals, and Spanish woven throughout. Poems tilt— literally—across the page: “[it began, the language slanting toward the bottom/corner of the page.]” From the poem ‘Mourning’:

Read across and down and with no map, the world of the living and the world of the dead intermingle, flush with lyrical tenderness. I love this book so much and I am honored to swim in its depths.
—from the Judge’s Citation by Jane Wong