Rachel Mannheimer’s book-length poem Earth Room delves into the concept of life as a solitary journey, despite all the experiences of travel, love, and memories. The poem, hailed by Louise Glück as the winner of the inaugural Bergman Prize, meticulously explores this idea with precision.
Earth Room begins with a virtual reality experience taking the narrator and her partner, Chris, to the moon. Despite being physically together, the narrator feels a sense of distance as Chris revels in the experience while she stays grounded.
The narrative unfolds through forty-seven locations, revealing Chris’s illness and his lack of connection with the narrator’s deceased mother. These points serve as anchors as the poem traverses various places like Los Angeles, Providence, Berlin, and more, blending travelogue and personal reflection on human connection and art.
Mannheimer skillfully maintains the momentum of Earth Room as the narrator’s musings weave through different locations, tying internal experiences with memories held in the landscapes visited.
The poem also touches on political and social themes, such as referencing a failed bill in Washington, DC during the Holocaust and contemplating assimilation and immigration while working in a garden in Beacon.
Earth Room beautifully intertwines life and death through the narrator’s journey across physical and emotional landscapes, highlighting the interconnectedness of experiences. Memories of the past, grief, and illness haunt the narrator and Chris, blurring the lines between the living and the dead.
The piece draws parallels between art installations and the narrator’s relationships and experiences, creating a rich tapestry of reflections. Each location visited becomes a mirror reflecting the intricate dance between viewer and object, performer and audience.
Reading Earth Room feels like embarking on a profound road trip with a friend at the wheel, where every stop offers a new insight into the complexities of life’s performances and the exploration of inner and outer selves.
