[REVIEW] Homie by Danez Smith

Graywolf Press, 2020

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REVIEW BY GABINO IGLESIAS

No one does it quite like Danez Smith. That’s it. That’s the review. Okay, that’s not it. You obviously need a little more. Here we go.

Danez Smith doesn’t just dance to the beat of their own drum; they slaughter magical animals of oppression with their hands, dry and stretch their skins, build the drums, call everyone together for a party, and then play the drums while dancing in a house built of words that can withstand a hurricane, the weight of history and racism, and a collection of memories best forgotten.

Homie, which is the title of this book only for the uninitiated, is a celebratory dance, a slap in the face of complacency, and an invitation to a revolution. It’s also a superb collection of poetry from one of the most interesting and unique voices in contemporary literature. In Homie, Smith opens their heart and their past and invites us all in to take a look. In fact, Smith does more than that: they make us their friend, especially those of us who, as people of color, have faced a different set of struggles.

There isn’t a single throwaway poem in Homie. That said, I won’t discuss all of them. Instead, I’ll give you glimpses of those that have stuck with me for weeks and are still with me now, a month after turning the last page.

The first one is “dogs!,” a strange crowning jewel that contains the taste of many of the cohesive elements that make this collection read like a whole: anger, humor, rhythm, and a message that’s stretched on top of the words like a cat, waiting for you to acknowledge it, to recognize its existence. It’s made up of little poems, all dealing with dogs in one way or another. Here is one I had to share on Twitter:

“scooby doo was trying to tell us

something when every time that

monster mask got snatched off it

was a greedy white dude.”

Here’s one that comes later and slices through our times all the way to the marrow to expose one of those problems that live at the core of this country like an intractable cancer:

“a dead dog is a hero, a dead lion

is a hero, a cloned sheep is a

miracle a dead child is a tragedy

depending on the color, the

nation, the occupation of non-

occupation of the parents.”

Danez’s is the kind of in-your-face poetry that revels in celebrating Otherness, that screams about the realities of the poet’s positionality. They are here to say things that matter, to scream about injustice:

“i didn’t come here to preach peace

for that is hot the hunted’s duty.

i came here to say what i can’t say

without my name being added to a list

what my mother fears i will say

what she wishes to say herself”

And this is Danez’s book, so they say whatever they want to say. In that regard, I guess some readers could find the language shocking. However, the way they use it demands attention. The title inside the book, the real title of the collection, contains a world of meaning. The words here are words that live in the interstitial space between being horrible insults and operating as reclaimed/repurposed terms that carry power with them. Yes, there are words here most people wouldn’t say/shouldn’t say, but “this ain’t about language/but who language holds.” Danez is in your face about these things because ignoring them is not how we make them better, how we bring people together, how we shine a light on racism, homophobia, and injustice.

Homie is timely, powerful, and honest. It’s one of those rare poetry collections that demand to be read because it contains the usual elements (i.e. love, memories, regret), but also brings other elements to the table, elements that are timely and important: bigotry, poverty, culture, and family. This is an elegant collection rocking short shorts; a fun read that’s extremely serious. Go read it. 

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GABINO IGLESIAS is a writer, journalist and book reviewer living in Austin, Texas. He is the author of Zero Saints and Coyote Songs. He is the book review editor for PANK Magazine and a columnist at LitReactor. You can find him on Twitter at @Gabino_Iglesias.