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Breaking the Fever

Mary Mackey

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“Mary Mackey’s crisp-edged perceptions are set down in this new collection of poems with a sensuous, compassionate, and utterly unflinching eye.” —Jane Hirshfield

Mary Mackey: Breaking the Fever

“The poetry in Breaking the Fever offers truths both personal & political, visions both actual and imaginatively broad. Ranging in setting from her childhood Indianapolis to a Brazilian favela, in subject from ecological tragedy to marital passion to the thoughts of a thoroughly contemporary Leda, Mary Mackey’s crisp-edged perceptions are set down in this new collection of poems with a sensuous, compassionate, and utterly unflinching eye.”—Jane Hirshfield

“Most poets seem to write poetry with the will, relentlessly suppressing every part of themselves that isn’t ecstatic. Mary Mackey writes as a whole person—mind and senses—and the poems are marvelous.” —Dennis Nurkse

"I expected wit, humor, imaginative leaps, lyrical and sensuous language and the kind of wisdom that can only come from a poet who has put in some time as a keen observer on and of this planet. Breaking the Fever does not disappoint."—Poetry Now

Mary Mackey's stunning collection opens with the fierce, hallucinatory music of her"fever children." Poem after poem extends and develops the themes of surreal delerium and psychic transcendence, Mackey's hallucinatory troping continually deconstructing rational consciousness.... not only passionately transcendent but dangerously corrosive. —Small Press Review

ISBN 0-9724785-8-2 $15.00

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary Mackey was born in Indianapolis, Indiana. After receiving a B.A. from Harvard, she attended the University of Michigan where she received a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature. She is the author of four previous collections of poetry, including “The Dear Dance of Eros;” one experimental novella, “Immersion,” and eleven novels, including “A Grand Passion,” “Season of Shadows,” “The Year the Horses Came, “ and “The Notorious Mrs. Winston” (a novel set during the American Civil War which will be published by Berkley Books in 2007). Her literary works have been translated into eleven foreign languages including Japanese, Hebrew, Greek, and Finnish. Mackey has lectured at Harvard and the Smithsonian. She is past president of the West Coast branch of PEN, a Fellow of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and Professor of English and Writer-in-Residence at California State University, Sacramento, where she teaches creative writing and film. A member of the Writers Guild of America, west, she wrote the screenplay for the award-winning feature “Silence.” At present, she is co-writing film scripts with Hollywood director Renée De Palma. More information about her can be found at www.marymackey.com.

 

Breaking The Fever

When I was young
fevers were attacked
the grown-ups would rub you
with alcohol
wrap you in wet sheets
refuse you blankets
fan you, feed you aspirin
plunge your wrists in cold water

they knew fever had to be fought
because it let children see
forbidden things
At 105 I would start to hear voices
soft and lulling
at 106 the faces would appear
swimming around me

stretching out their hands
they would gesture to me
to join them
I was always very happy then
floating out on the warm brink
of the world

the fever children
would sing in high voices
liquid like silver bells
come with us
they would say
come play, Mary
and they would show me
maple trees turning red and gold
long aisles of sunlight
and woods that glowed and trembled

My body would start to come apart
very gently like milkweed fluff
and I would begin
to rise up toward their
hands
but always at the last moment
the dark circles
of the grown-ups’ faces
would force me back down
and their fear would pin my chest
to the mattress
like black crystal paper weights

They would force more aspirin on me
more ice and alcohol rubs
more wet sheets
and if that didn't work
they would lift my naked body
and plunge it into a tub of cold water
ignoring my screams

Come back
they would plead
come back
come back
and my fever would buckle
and snap like the spine
of a beautiful snake
crushed under a boot

Then the fever children
would abandon me
and I would be left in a world
of ordinary things:
light bulbs
used Kleenex
hissing radiators
thermometers

I would see my mother's pale
terrified face
and my stuffed animals
and my brother's crib
and my precious fever would lie
broken in a thousand bits
with no way to put it back together
and I could never explain
how kind it had been
and how foolish we were to fear it.