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The Willies
The Willies
The Willies
Ebook90 pages53 minutes

The Willies

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2021 Midwest Book Awards - Poetry Debut Gold Medal Winner
2020 Forewords Reviews INDIES Awards - Poetry Gold Medal Winner

“Prophetic in bleak times”
—DR. CORNEL WEST


The Willies, Adam Falkner's first full-length poetry collection, offers a sharp and vulnerable portrait of the journey into queerhood in America. In a voice that Dr. Cornel West heralds as “prophetic in bleak times,” Falkner departs from a more familiar coming out narrative to center the stories of dueling selves. Masquerading white boy. Child of an addict. Closeted varsity athlete.

Drifting seamlessly between the scholarly and conversational, Falkner's poems showcase a versatility of language and a courageous hunger, unafraid of depicting the costumes we use to hide legacies of toxic masculinity. Through snapshots both tragic and humorous, merciless and humane, Falkner offers powerful new ways of understanding the intersectional linkage that binds queer shame to cultural appropriation. At its core, The Willies asks us to consider who we will become if we do not grapple with what scares us most.


Advance praise for The Willies

Adam Falkner has heard what hums at the marrow of men who deceive themselves in order to survive America.
— SAEED JONES

This is truth that changes the air it reaches. This is poetry that, damn it, you can't shake.
— PATRICIA SMITH

In these urgent and sometimes mysterious poems, Falkner traces questions of identity, family, love and the self. His language is angular and surprising, his content intimate and profound.
— ANDREW SOLOMON

Adam Falkner is a poet with a heart of gold and a spine of steel. We need his prophetic voice in these bleak times. —DR. CORNEL WEST

I am thankful for the incisive mind and eye of Adam Falkner. In the poems, the work of balancing several selves at once is done gently, deftly, and with the brilliance of someone curious about how limitless they can become.

― HANIF ABDURRAQIB
LanguageEnglish
PublisherButton Poetry
Release dateFeb 4, 2020
ISBN9781943735761
The Willies
Author

Adam Falkner

Dr. Adam Falkner is a poet, educator and arts & culture strategist. He is the author of Adoption (Winner of the 2017 Diode Editions Chapbook Award) and The Willies (forthcoming from Button Poetry, 2020), and his work has appeared in a range of print and media spaces including on programming for HBO, NBC, NPR, BET, in the New York Times, and elsewhere. A former high school English teacher in New York City’s public schools, Adam is the Founder and Executive Director of the pioneering diversity consulting initiative, the Dialogue Arts Project, and Special Projects Director for Urban Word NYC, in

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    Book preview

    The Willies - Adam Falkner

    father

    THE WILLIES

    I.

    Willie Boy

    Let’s Get One Thing Halfway Straight

    Connor Everywhere But

    Intake

    My Father Is a Mansion

    The Year the Wu-Tang Drops

    A Tale of Two Cities

    Thanksgiving

    Flight 2331

    My Grandma Calls Me Barack

    Fishing the Little Pigeon

    Intake

    The Year The Blueprint Drops

    Kissing Your Shoulder Blade Is the Most Honest Thing I’ve Done This Week

    L Train Rumor

    The Whitest Thing

    Men’s Ten-Meter, London Olympics

    II.

    Straight

    Look At Me Now

    His Name Was Eduardo

    Ronnie’s Father Was the First Real Drunk I Knew

    Intake

    Cool

    Sleeping Beside My Mother

    If You Don’t Know

    Intake

    Definition of Privilege

    It’s Tricky So Stay With Me

    By the Time The Chronic Drops Again

    Intake

    III.

    Adoption

    Intake

    Joey From Dawson’s Creek Was My Beard

    As Long As You’re Out

    Holden’s Poem

    The Abandoned

    Preparing the House

    Gospel

    Intake

    Poem for the Lovers at Pickerel Lake

    Get Well Soon from Riverside Church

    Notes

    Acknowledgements

    Mad lives is up for grabs.

    —Ghostface Killah

    * * *

    Change is not a threat to your life, but an invitation to live.

    —Adrienne Rich

    I.

    Willie Boy

    Finally, the poem I will not write.

    I am in fifth grade, wrestling

    in a brush pile of dead leaves

    with a now-dead friend. We paw

    the hardening knots in each other’s

    gym shorts, laugh and writhe until

    the leaf pile is no longer a pile

    but a kicked-in hive of tiny heaving

    lungs; soft stink of new sweat

    and rotting wood. Six girlfriends

    and a dissertation later, I wake up

    in a tougher city with new friends

    who remind me of my father.

    I look at men with chiseled

    jaws on loud trains in new ways,

    or rather, old ways but with less

    at stake. Wonder if they ever hover

    their gaze over me for an instant

    too long, too; if the flexed tricep

    peeking from under my own black

    t-shirt makes them dance their eyes

    into pretend reading material, too.

    I freeze snapshots of beautiful strangers,

    pin them in the high-ceilinged hallways

    inside me near the faces of everyone who

    knows me by a different town and

    a different version of my father,

    none of which are of the Christmas

    he got loaded and started yelling about

    how gay people give him the willies,

    rooted in Willie-boy, or sissy—

    a name I’ve tried fighting and drinking

    and fucking away since sixth grade.

    A badge I’ve tried burying amidst

    the brass edges of ball fields

    and rap songs. Still, from beneath

    the goose down of this new bearded

    man, soft snore into my shoulder’s

    right teacup, hairy thigh laid heavy

    across my lap, I peck the first lines

    of a poem I will not finish. Another

    Willie. Sissy. It raises its hand, draws

    a blank. Swells its chest, coughs soot.

    Curls its fists. Slinks into the night.

    Let’s Get One Thing Halfway Straight: I have spent my entire life trying on costumes because no one told me I couldn’t and the stakes were never that high which I’ve come to think is mostly what makes a white writer a white writer. The last time anyone referred to me by that name was exactly never but that’s also the point. I am a queer poet. Child of an addict. Masquerading white boy. My best friend died and

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