Books & Publications

In “God Does Not Live at Our House Anymore”, the poet Charlotte Clear gives us an exploration of grief and loss, of the dissolution of a marriage and the way grief is like a sledgehammer in our lives. These poems are brutally honest clear sighted and unforgettable.

Charlotte Clear’s unflinching, relentless meditation on profound loss is delivered to readers in lines that are at once controlled and full of chaos. In God Doesn’t Live at Our House Anymore, we’re reminded of the confessional poets, brazenly raw. Here, though, the confessional aspect might speak to the various ways the narrator detaches from her life: “I stop noticing things.”

While the narrator may stop noticing, though, the poet keeps watch. Loss becomes not only visible but also part of a crucial voice. Even as the narrator insists she is numb, there’s so much feeling in these poems. Without Levine’s tender skill, the bare primal self could not be so realized.

In this breathtaking debut chapbook, Charlotte Clear’s poetry takes on a brutal and heartfelt journey after the death of her daughter. For anyone who has struggled with grief or bereavement, this painstakingly honest chapbook documents not only the poet’s recovery, but speaks to the universality of love, loss, and regret; and the long, circular route she endures on her road to healing.

Charlotte Clear describes in her chapbook the weight of the days in the aftermath of the labyrinth of grief. Her poems are powerful examples of the complexity of life, love and loss in exquisite detail. This is a must-read for those who are struggling with loss of a loved one.

I’m not a parent and have never been pregnant, so people might wonder what possible value reading this poetry would have for someone like me.

I knew I made a good decision to read “God Doesn’t Live At Our House Anymore” when a flood of tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t stop sobbing about halfway into reading this chapbook. It was this one line:

My baby girl, Charlotte.

My outpouring was mingled with my own submerged grief about being an abused child–my own “Little Girl”. I realized how those abusive experiences led to a silent decision made years ago to never have children of my own for fear of hurting them. I’m grateful for the powerful breakthrough understanding that came from reading this chapbook.

Charlotte Clear’s poems, collected in “God Doesn’t Live at Our House Any More”, are songs of pain and torment as exquisite as they are hard to bear. Levine presents the reader with a lyrical challenge. How far down will you go with her and what will you lose along the way; your love, your life, your soul and at very bottom of it all, your beloved child?

Levine speaks of “complicated grieving” without a trace of self-pity yet full of piercing regret. There are no easy calls for forgiveness and or paths to redemption. Her anguish is visceral and palpable. Levine leads the reader to many uncomfortable truths in facing inexplicable tragedy.

These poems form a raw, unflinching portrait of domestic life, marriage, and the quiet ache of endurance.