Ben Lerner is one of my most beloved authors and I always find a special beauty in the writing of those who can navigate through both prose and verse. This is a collection that I personally love, and my less that 100% glowing “yes” feedback to the review prompts reflects more the bookshop’s clientele and buying patterns than my personal admiration for the book.

Ben Lerner is a singular talent and modern thinker and writer. This collection of poems is a stunning collection of forms, thoughts, and experiments. I have already taught one of the poems from this collection, and see it as a potentially integral part of a classroom collection, school library, and potential curriculum adoption for poetry study, especially at the AP Level. Lerner is insightful, curious, caring, and painfully honest in these poems. They are a light.

A beautiful book of poems. I'm amazed at Lerner's range of themes and techniques. I tried to write a longer review for my website/blog, but it did not quite come together at a level I'd consider publishable.

WEDNESDAYS WITH DENISE: September 13, 2023

Ben Lerner’s The Lights was published September 5 by MacMillan. The poems contained therein are heady, energetic, and totally engaged with the now—our crisis as a nation and the world’s peril. Lerner contextualizes the horrors of our contemporary situation with the life of Whitman and the grass. There is a lot of grass in this book, actually—delicately pulled from the earth with reverence. Yet the weight of his subjects never feels too much as the tonal shifts in the book allow for humor. In the prose poem “The Media,” he writes “And it’s me, Ben, just calling to check in. I’m on my way to pick Marcela up from daycare and wanted to hear about your trip…Give me a call when you can. I’ll be around until the late nineteenth century, when carved wood gives way to polished steel, especially on lake surfaces….” And in the spectacular “Contre-jour,” a sparkly list poem chronicling luminosity of all sorts, Lerner injects, “I wish I’d known//you were a fan of light/I would have same some for you…”

Congratulations, Ben!

Ben Lerner is one of the unique figures of our time who can write both poetry and fiction with marvelous lucidity, whose words fall in the in-between space of these mediums, the reverberations of whose words are felt under our skins. It was a delight to read this book, which includes the piece titled "Media" which Ben himself read on the new yorker podcast. This book will slow down time, make you ponder the significant and the insignificant and leave you more in awe of life, more alive to this thing we call life.

My thanks to NetGalley and FSG for an e-ARC of this title.
I wondered if Lerner would ever return to writing enough poetry to justify publishing a collection again. This is his first book of poetry in 13 years. One reviewer refers to him as "a poet who writes novels" (after all, his first three books, from 2004 to 2010, were all collections of poetry). I see him more as that 19th C professional who was simply "a writer" - in most cases, of any and all forms (e.g., Hardy).
He, and his publishers, refer to some of the 28 pieces here as "prose poems".
I have not read his earlier poems since they were first published (the 3 volumes republished in one volume in 2016 as "No Art"), but this often feels more personal, less scholarly ("The Chorus" my favorite here of that type - with close ties to his own "auto-fiction").
Dense, he is no Whitman (as he admits), but rather is that curveball in the Whitman to Williams school of American poetry - Hart Crane. Lerner's mentor was an admirer of Crane, and the poet puts in an appearance in one of the early poems here.
Many of the poems refer to visual arts, my favorite being "The Rose" - Google Jay DeFeo's work before reading the poem, it helps a lot. Now at the Whitney, for years it was boarded over at the Art Institute of San Francisco (in their defense, a college and not a museum).
While titled "The Lights", it could have also easily been called "Glass", which makes an appearance here in so many of the poems. A physical seperation, it also allows us to observe. And, it sparkles. A lover of obscure little facts that he enjoys sharing with his readers, my favorite was that in the time before clear glass was used as windows it was hard for painters to portray rain! Oh - yeah. Something he learned from an audio tour at an Italian museum......
While there are intimations of his "auto-fiction" here, at times his first person narrator must be identified as someone other than himself (his father is not dead).
Still dense with observations and references to art and ideas, there is more of the personal in this collection, and that makes it more accessible to the reader. Still, I am not sure that some of his fans will enjoy this volume. As one "reviewer" simply stated on GoodReads - "I think I'm just too dumb for Ben Lerner." (2 stars).
Yes, it is a churn at times, but one well worth it. And pausing for a moment to think (and maybe Google) as you work you way through the book helps with understanding.
4 out of 5 from this "reviewer".

As a fan of Ben Lerner's novels, I was elated to endeavor to read his prose poetry. "The Lights" really shines a light on what Ben Lerner is all about. In this book, you'll see him grappling with the mix of prose and poetry, the balance between public and private speech, and how he navigates the happenings of fatherhood.

Despite the complexity of his work, Lerner's writing ultimately conveys a sense of optimism and intimacy, emphasizing the warmth he feels for his readers and his family.

Ben Lerner is a writer who explores the profound aspects of language and consciousness while injecting humor and self-awareness into his work, ultimately conveying a sense of optimism about the miracle of language.

Nice to see Ben back in the poetry space, although I confess that where I loved him so much as a younger man, I'm now finding his work cool to the touch -- beautiful, careful, but it rarely lights me up. Still, there are moments, and the craft is impeccable as always.

Thank you NetGalley and Farrar, Strauss & Giroux for providing me an e-copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

Ben Lerner, a prolific author of both poetry and prose, takes on the contemporary moment in a "formally ambitious" new work of prose-poetry.

I can't claim to be an expert on poetry. So, I'm going to talk about how this book made me feel. Reading The Lights felt like floating in the ocean on a warm day. It was deeply sensual--not in the erotic sense but in the senses sense. The language had beautiful repetition and made great use of multiple entendres that squeezed more meaning out of a few words than many authors can do with an entire paragraph. Something I noticed in The Topeka School (his beautiful 2019 Pulitzer Prize nominee, a 5-star read for me personally) is Lerner's compassionate authorial voice, and that was particularly apparent in this new work. It was generous, but still explored the darkness within himself and others. In terms of constructive comments, I agree with some other reviewers that the switch between more traditional free verse poetry and prose poetry was sometimes jarring, though it didn't completely take me out of the mood. He also used names of people in his life as if the reader knew them, which lent an air of familiarity but sometimes made me confused as to the person's relationship to him. Overall, this was a magical read that left me feeling pleasantly strange. 4 out of 5 songs.

“The Lights,” the latest from poet/novelist Ben Lerner, is a mixture of traditional poetry broken into lines and prose poetry, including several poems that were previously published in Lerner’s collected volume, “No Art,” by Granta (a lovely book itself). I’ll play my cards up front and state that I think Lerner is extraordinarily brilliant and I will read anything he writes.
Lerner has experimented formally with a sort of binary oscillation in two of his past books of poetry, “Angle of Yaw” and “Mean Free Path,” both of which are split into sections with different formal characteristics. The two poles here are prose poems and traditionally line-broken poems, but the divide is less sharp than either of those books, because “The Lights” isn’t split into sections. Interestingly, and perhaps relatedly, “The Lights” is the only one of Lerner’s now four books of poetry that has a “traditional” structure, with a title for every individual poem. (It might be possible to argue that “Angle of Yaw” or “Mean Free Path” are comprised of five or six section-long poems each, the section titles indicating individual poems, but I don’t entirely buy that. I say entirely because one of the ways I was drawn to both of those books is that there is a linguistic and imagistic continuity that seems to shape the long sections into cohesive units; still, there is a further, pointed subdivision in both books, with symbols indicating the starts and ends of individual poems.)
Maybe it’s fitting that there’s no hard line demarcating sections of prose and poetry, because “The Lights” feels at times like an attempt to create continuity between Lerner’s prose and poetry practices; notably, one of the lengthier prose poems, “The Media,” was published in The New Yorker as fiction in April 2020. “The Media” is certainly the most fiction-like of the prose poems included, although it’s notable to me that several of the prose poems experiment with fairly lucid narrative continuity, something that hasn’t been present in Lerner’s prose poems in the past.
Lerner’s style in poetry and prose have always seemed to overlap for me, something especially visible when, in his novels, prose seems to give way to a more poetic mode of expression in moments of emotional intensity, like a kind of ecstatic trance—there’s some of this in all three of his novels, but I think it happens most frequently in “The Topeka School.” Images seem to concatenate or pile up in a way that seems less like the linear and grounded logic of figurative language in prose and more like the associative, impression-based logic of poetry. At times the blur is more intentional, such as the inclusion of excerpts from “The Dark Threw Patches Down Upon Me Also” (one of the longest poems also included in “The Lights”) in Lerner’s second novel, “10:04,” or excerpts from other poems featured in “Leaving the Atocha Station.”
The inflection of Lerner’s gifts of prose and narrative onto poetry haven’t been as noticeable for me in his collections of poetry prior to “The Lights”: I think the attempt at narrative in some of these longer prose poems, and the fact of their length itself (the prose poems in “Angle of Yaw” are quite brief) seems to point toward a prose-colored poetry.
It makes sense that this might be a direction Lerner is heading in, especially because in the past he has mentioned the social tension of being a poet who becomes well-known for his novels. I think it’s admirable and wonderful that he continues to write in both and with such rigor and seriousness. One of the beautiful parts of reading Lerner’s poetry, and the primary way in which that rigor becomes clear to me, is watching his style develop—one gets a sense of lines traced through from beginning to end, especially in the form of recurring motifs or images, but also in broader formal ideas, like fractious, ruthlessly-enjambed style developed primarily in “Mean Free Path” that also occurs here, a style which was also visible in glimpses in “The Lichtenberg Figures” and “Angle of Yaw.” In retrospect, for another example, I think the introduction of the narrative into Lerner’s poems can be traced at least back to “The Dark Threw Patches Down Upon Me Also”; probably further.
I think it’s easy to imagine oneself developing a style or voice and just sticking to it, but I’m not sure that should ever be the goal, or I guess I am sure it shouldn’t be; there’s an exhilaration in watching the development of a brilliant mind like this, and the lack of complacency with one’s art is I think something to strive for.

“A dream in prose of poetry, a long dream of waking.” Ben Lerner’s new collection of poetry, The Lights, features a striking array of verse and prose poems, most circling themes of family and trauma, love and loss, grief and language — many filtered through lenses from lockdown to light, memory, song. His imagery vividly blends so effortlessly with succinct, perceptive notes on what it means to be alive: “I looked up and saw a plane moving slowly across the sky, a ghost flight, an empty or nearly empty plane following an established route so the carrier can retain its slots at airports. The white streaks on the warbler's back are tinged with olive, the darker ruminations tinged with gold. Repetition forms a groove.” Though I don’t know if I loved every prose poem, I found most of the lines and phrases I had noted down were from the prose poems, which each couch profound flashes in their loose, meandering thoughts. “My father was a poet: He made a world for me, a toy folk tradition. Or my father was a fraud: How else had he deceived me?” “When I was half-asleep I half believed that I could hear the protesters chanting the phrases that Emma was coining just for me: We are the glass that plates the wound. The rain enters the dream as snow. The rose is absolute. A call and response between the whisper in my ear and the people in the streets. Even though it was muffled by a mask, I could pick out my father's voice.” “There is always a gap between songs, traditions, and a child must bridge it (or there will be violence) and that's what the songs themselves tell us if we listen.” That last remark, from ‘The Chorus’, is such a painfully knowing, affecting revelation.

Look, there's a reason Ben Lerner has won ALL of the awards. An absolute master of language and storytelling, his newest book is sure to wind up on plenty of critics lists in a few months. There are stunning meta-fiction essays mixed in with poems that are just a pleasure to read. Get a good glass of wine and a decadent snack and just let yourself fall into it.

Lerner is his usual witty self here, managing to find some truly bright moments in The Lights. I found myself almost rhythmically chanting the non-prose poems. It will be interesting to see the reaction of other fellow reviewers to this one.

Thank you Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the ARC.

I think it is a rather experimental collection of poems, and it had its ups and downs for the author. It just wasn't enough for me, I liked his bold and relaxed style. Too bad it wasn't for me. It's like recommending an MTV series to a child in the mid-2000s.

YAAAS. OMG..
This has been a big month for me, with poetry and prose. I am so thankful to Ben Lerner, FSG, and NetGalley for granting me advanced access in both digital and physical formats before this emotional rollercoaster publishes on September 5, 2o23.

Ben Lerner captivates whoever reads through short blips and longer, more detailed narratives walking us through daily life and warm and icy-cold interactions. I got lost in Ben Lerner's fictional and perhaps even non-fictional world and wanted to tuck myself into the luring words of beauty and creativity unlike any other.

I am so thankful and can't wait until publication day arrives.

I tried! But I couldn't get through this collection. The poems seemed meandering and would make references to I don't know what. The chunky prose poems were even more confusing.

What this feels like:

a nitro-cold-brew-too-strong in the chrysalis of a Glass song or a Hadid building. In existential wonder and awe of the world. To find beauty not just in the blue light of the day, but in the blue light of our phones. In part a pandemic book, it is in parts a ways of showing that Lerner is a trying father. That he loves his children. But the mind is not at rest. No. It is a phantom limb reaching out for still some kind of understanding in the empty beauty of a beautiful sky, an understanding that seeps through every pore and follicle that it becomes part of you in that building-blocks-of-nature-kind-of-way.

Lerner is urgent. And so is the rest of the world. In its wars and in the ways we drag these meat sacks across roads and streets to make it somewhere, to meet someone halfway, to empathize.

"𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥.."

Though I've only read Lerner in singles (in magazines and one-shot publications), I'm much a fan of his 𝘔𝘢𝘥 𝘓𝘪𝘣 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘺 days, but these felt at times too rambling, a cold-brew-too-much. But it was in his frenetic jumps and itches that mimics all the anxious ways we exist.

It's through our troubling times that Lerner is also looking at himself as role as poet, trying to understand the tightrope. That it is not just a rope but a ways to a means to an end to get from one end to another. The shuffling between the you and I is the very trapeze and mental somersault to land in the present tense, to make use and find beauty that grounds us. That make the day happen. That brings us to another. To make clockwork.

An interesting collection, I found the pieces written in verse absolutely stunning, with the titular poem perhaps one of my all-time favourites. I was put off, however, by the run-on prose sections - there were so many that they lost their effectiveness and eventually I found myself just skimming through them.
I appreciated the concept but this wasn't my favourite overall.

I think I am not the right person to read this collection of poems.
The texts are too heavy (in length and in the choice of vocabulary) for me personally, and I wasn't able to follow the thread within one poem or paragraph.
This is on me and not on the book, which is why I'm not rating.


Thank you NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the opportunity to read this ARC.

The Lights by Ben Lerner is an impressive work of poetry and prose that captures the complexities of modern life in a constantly changing world. The poems are written with great depth and insight, exploring themes of art, family, and meaning against a backdrop of crises and uncertainties. The language is both beautiful and precise, with a keen eye for detail and an ear for the music of words. Lerner's formal experiments are both playful and profound, creating a rich tapestry of voices and perspectives that speak to the challenges and opportunities of our time. The Lights is a stunning achievement that will resonate with readers long after they've put the book down.