Eros, Unbroken

About Annie Kim

Annie Kim is a poet, lawyer, and violinist. Her first book, Into the Cyclorama, won the Michael Waters Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the Foreword INDIES Best Poetry Book of the Year. Kim’s poems have appeared in journals such as The Kenyon Review, Cincinnati Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, and Narrative. She works as an assistant dean at the University of Virginia School of Law, teaches poetry and legal writing, and writes micro book reviews for DMQ Review.

Praise for Eros, Unbroken

In Eros, Unbroken, a work of both intellect and devotion, we read desire, ache, violence, grief, the body, music, memory, echoes. Here is charged beauty, the rich and generous consciousness in which nothing is forgiven, everything laid bare. The lyrical and narrative genius of these poems interweaves two voices—one that’s contemporary and autobiographical and one in the persona of an eighteenth-century castrato opera singer. Here is real music, with contrasting viewpoints, tones, and textures, refracting and echoing themes as only Annie Kim can make.
—Peg Alford Pursell, author of A Girl Goes Into the Forest and Show Her a Flower, a Bird, a Shadow

Art and loss, trauma, the past both fixed and evolving, the limits of love amid the ceaseless currents of desire—these are some of the strands that comprise Annie Kim’s richly interwoven second book. The range of Eros, Unbroken is
broad yet focused, its craft subtle and sure. In dialogues, extended meditations, and haunting lyric poems, Kim illuminates what it means to live in time.
—Don Bogen, author of Immediate Song and An Algebra

Moving, captivating—fascinating—threads course through this terrific poetry collection by Annie Kim. But what I want to address here is the precision and beauty of telling. Kim’s mastery of language itself—her lexical choices—and her ability to activate the reader’s senses through stunning and surprising imagery is what pushes me through each line to the next. “[I]t’s you I want again,” her speaker demands of Eros, “your monstrous / light knocking my stained-glass window, / black ink of you raining swift down // parched map of me, blurring all my capitals. / That, at least, was irreparable.”
—Martha Rhodes, author of The Thin Wall and The Beds