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Bailey Blumenstock is a poet originally from Ocean City, NJ, though she considers Washington, DC her home. She received her B.A. in Creative Writing and English from The George Washington University, and her MFA in Creative Writing from American University. Presently, she is a student at Wesley Theological Seminary, studying Theology and the Arts. Bailey's work is particularly concerned with her faith, her queerness, and her identity as a diasporic Armenian.
The brilliant premise of Bailey Blumenstock’s gorgeous debut, Leaving the Religion of Self-Harm, is that all ways of life—that is, all the ways we have grooved our minds into patterns of behavior—are a kind of religion. Some link us into our higher nature, our better selves; others begin in Hell like Dante had to and travel upward with the help of a guide. Blumenstock’s guide is poetry itself (as it was for Dante, whose persona was enfolded into Virgil), and her Mary figure at the peak of Paradise is Leonardo’s Ginevra de Benci, to whom a
staggering invocation opens this book. Following the poet’s progress, we discover that the first impulse toward the new religion of self-endearment is merely to apprehend, to simply hear the care that is felt for us by others. At the beginning of these changes, the Ginevra floats at great distance, like many of the objects and animals encountered throughout the book. By the end of the collection, we have become her: and it is we who look back upon the other goddess, the suicide at the bottom of the Seine, in the devastating final portrait, hearing her with our newfound compassion for the world. I have never read a short volume of poetry so complete in its transubstantiation of earthly bread into the body of Christ. This is a profound achievement from a poet whose work in letters has only begun.
— David Keplinger, author of Ice
There are few poetic voices who can whisper and scream in turn and pull them each off with equal strength, but Bailey Blumenstock holds these—and many more contradictions—beside each other with tremendous skill. We encounter both the robins with matching blouses and the quiet horror of the unjustly hung elephant. There’s the looming desire to die and yet the vision of splendor and gentleness still to come. And here: The slanted holiness of a backyard exorcism trailed by the National Cathedral. Among all of these seemingly contrasting moments is a deep yearning to escape the current moment: through contemplations of the past, considerations of a future without so much pain, pleading for an answer to the ever-present prayer, “God help.” Leaving the Religion of Self-Harm is a staggeringly strong debut collection demonstrating Blumenstock’s dazzling breadth of references, generosity of imagery, and declaration of that which is holy simply by being named as such.
— Jordan Pérez, author of Santa Tarantula
To live—to live within our minds—is to know life is both lush and treacherous. The fool forgets the latter, and the pessimist forgets the former. Bailey Blumenstock’s Leaving the Religion of Self-Harm is a brave book that sings from that uncertain space between those poles of luxuriance and peril—full of many days when we may not want to wake, and many where we could not imagine not meeting the sun again. We witness Blumenstock finding a new “religion,” a new faith filtered through lyrical concision and candor. If there is a reason we read poems, it is to see—in that brevity, that prayer, of a small page—that there are others reaching for belief, just like us.
— Kyle Dargan, author of Anagnorisis
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