The Unbecoming: Poems by Kathy Fagan

On a sketch of the Virgin and Child, Michelangelo instructed his young assistant, in shorthand Italian, to Draw faster, acknowledging that life lasts a moment, death–and art–far longer. As an aging, bi, childless poet currently recognizing the limits of her own life and that of our planet, Kathy Fagan has immersed herself in the intimate and urgent discovery that growth and decay are the same cycle, and that art and memory, made in the tumultuous rush of these, are the deeply human attempts to outlast them.

Fagan’s luminous seventh collection, The Unbecoming, begins with the sequence “Listening to Others,” and a command, Run, into a process that is, for all of us, a circle of becoming and unbecoming simultaneously. Favouring perspective over nostalgia and clarity over certainty, the poems are, then, memento mori, a loving reminder, a poet’s reckoning with the rewards and losses of age and with our painfully beautiful little lives “rounded with a sleep.”