Written after two years of artistic silence, during which the world came to a halt due to the COVID-19 pandemic and Minneapolis became the epicenter of protest following the murder of George Floyd, Bluff is Danez Smith's powerful reckoning with their role and responsibility as a poet and with their hometown of the Twin Cities. This is a book of awakening out of violence, guilt, shame, and critical pessimism to wonder and imagine how we can strive toward a new existence in a world that seems to be dissolving into desolate futures.

Smith brings a startling urgency to these poems, their questions demanding a new language, a deep self-scrutiny, and virtuosic textual shapes. A series of ars poetica gives way to anti poetica and ars america to implicate poetry's collusions with unchecked capitalism. A photographic collage accrues across a sequence to make clear the consequences of America's acceptance of mass shootings. A brilliant long poem--part map, part annotation, part visual argument--offers the history of Saint Paul's vibrant Rondo neighborhood before and after officials decided to run an interstate directly through it.

Bluff is a kind of manifesto about artistic resilience, even when time and will can seem fleeting, when the places we most love--those given and made--are burning. In this soaring collection, Smith turns to honesty, hope, rage, and imagination to envision futures that seem possible.

Finalist for the National Book Award for Poetry
Winner of the Forward Prize for Best Collection

Smith's] poems are enriched to the point of volatility, but they pay out, often, in sudden joy.--The New Yorker

Award-winning poet Danez Smith is a groundbreaking force, celebrated for deft lyrics, urgent subjects, and performative power. Don't Call Us Dead opens with a heartrending sequence that imagines an afterlife for black men shot by police, a place where suspicion, violence, and grief are forgotten and replaced with the safety, love, and longevity they deserved here on earth. Smith turns then to desire, mortality--the dangers experienced in skin and body and blood--and a diagnosis of HIV positive. Some of us are killed / in pieces, Smith writes, some of us all at once. Don't Call Us Dead is an astonishing and ambitious collection, one that confronts, praises, and rebukes America--Dear White America--where every day is too often a funeral and not often enough a miracle.

FINALIST FOR THE 2020 NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD FOR POETRY
FINALIST FOR THE 2021 NAACP IMAGE AWARD FOR POETRY

Danez Smith is our president

Homie is Danez Smith's magnificent anthem about the saving grace of friendship. Rooted in the loss of one of Smith's close friends, this book comes out of the search for joy and intimacy within a nation where both can seem scarce and getting scarcer. In poems of rare power and generosity, Smith acknowledges that in a country overrun by violence, xenophobia, and disparity, and in a body defined by race, queerness, and diagnosis, it can be hard to survive, even harder to remember reasons for living. But then the phone lights up, or a shout comes up to the window, and family--blood and chosen--arrives with just the right food and some redemption. Part friendship diary, part bright elegy, part war cry, Homie is the exuberant new book written for Danez and for Danez's friends and for you and for yours.

2014 Button Poetry Prize Winner

These harrowing poems make montage, make mirrors, make elegiac biopic, make 'a dope ass trailer with a hundred black children / smiling into the camera & the last shot is the wide mouth of a pistol.' That's no spoiler alert, but rather, Smith's way-saying & laying it beautifully bare. A way of desensitizing the reader from his own defenses each time this long, black movie repeats.-Marcus Wicker Danez Smith's BLACK MOVIE is a cinematic tour-de-force that lets poetry vie with film for the honor of which medium can most effectively articulate the experience of Black America.-Rain Taxi

Winner, Kate Tufts Discovery Award, 2016

Winner, John C Zacharis Award 2016 from Ploughshares

Winner, Lambda Literary Award, Gay Poetry, 2015

Finalist, Norma Farber First Book Award, Poetry Society of America, 2015

Finalist, Debulitzer, 2015

Chosen by Don Share for Boston Globe's Best Poetry Books, 2014

Danez Smith's writing is not safe. How can one's writing be safe when their life is constantly in danger? In their debut poetry collection [insert] boy, Smith calls for a world where black boys and men are worshipped instead of feared, a world in which they live long enough to feel the settling of joints, the experience of bones to die ninety & beautiful / & the causes more normal. In [insert] boy, Smith writes intimately about their complex relationship to multiple forms of violence. Smith discusses domestic abuse in their family, the physical and emotional effects of rape, and being the target of racist and homophobic language. All of these experiences are based on their interactions with other men. They also includes a series of poems about their many attempts at healing, a constant process which unfolds throughout the book. The body is present on almost every page-particularly the mouth, knees, and hands. These three body parts often appear together in the same poem. In King the Color of Space, Tower of Molasses & Marrow, Smith writes, I want to kiss you. Not on your mouth, but on your most / secret scars, your ashy black & journeyed knees, // your ring finger, the trigger finger, those hands / the world fears so much.

-H.Melt for Lambda Literary Review