Books like Speaking of Siva — picked by fans

Desikachar’s clear wisdom in The Heart of Yoga can’t be understated. Returning to this book reminds me of why I love yoga, why I teach yoga, and why I do yoga. Much of the value of this book is in Desikachar’s simple prose and exposition regarding yoga philosophy. He ends many chapters with a Q & A section, answering questions he anticipates readers will have. And while there are translations in abundance of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, Desikachar’s translations have real-world applicability. His approach to yoga helps us understand why the practice has endured for so many years—and it reminds yoga teachers that bringing yoga to our students is an undertaking of immense importance. 

This is my all-time favorite yoga book—and I have lots and lots of books on yoga that I really love! The main reason I relate to this one is that it is written in a way that embodies what yoga is and means by someone with a depth of knowledge in the practice—the author studied for years with one of the world's leading yoga instructors, B. K. S. Iyengar. With brief and insightful entries on topics as wide-ranging as transformation, gravity, time, the eagle, and organizations, Scaravelli gradually and generously invites readers into understanding the relationship between ourselves and the world, and through it, yoga. You will find instructions for breathing and postures, but more importantly, you will find the wisdom, expansiveness, interconnections, and joy that define yoga. The is interspersed with beautiful images of art and nature and a number of beautiful photographs of the author in her eighties… show more.

Art can serve as a support for meditation. Ritual brings the spiritual dimension of yoga into action. Mookerjee and Kanna’s breadth of living scholarship portray the ritual arts of the Indian Tantric traditions to be a form of yoga itself, one that reflects the non-dual or Advaita philosophy of Tantric yoga. This book is a practical guide, as well as a deep dive into Tantric symbolism, both satisfying and transformative. If you crave visual support for your practice, pick up this book. 

The sociologist, Andrea Jain, contextualizes the historical roots of yoga in this well-researched and readable book. For the yogi who has read everything, she provides a refreshing perspective. She addresses the yoga explosion in the West, linking spiritual consumer culture with late-stage capitalism without the typical moralizing, or nostalgia for a so-called golden age of yoga. She shows that yoga was never a fixed historical or essentialist enterprise, but rather, always changing and adapting to the culture that surrounded it. That culture, in turn, re-makes yoga over and over. While serious yogis can respect yoga’s roots, we’re also part of its innovation and evolution. This is a yoga history lesson worth reading, offering much to ponder. 

Bashir’s father was Somali, and she is a first-generation American.

Her breath taking poetry echoes her heritage in poems like “We call it dark matter because it doesn’t interact with light.” She doesn’t identify herself as “Somali,” but her heritage is there. Her blackness is there. Her womanhood is there. A jazz trumpet is there. A spinning sky is there.

I watched Somalis as their world began to fall apart. I could only vaguely comprehend the complexity of their emotions, the loss they would feel when they were forced to leave. I doubt that even they did not know what it meant to lose a homeland.

It seems that women need dirt, dirt to grow from, dirt to grow into. When that dirt is snatched from under us, so many of us lose our footing in the world. A few strong women like Samiya Bashir find their footing in poetry,… show more.

Sorrow is plural but grief is singular writes American poet, Victoria Chang, in her latest book Obit.

To me, this phrase resonates all the more powerfully as we find ourselves emerging from the Covid pandemic and assessing the impact it had on us. We were united, around the world, in our sorrow but the way we grieved was unique to each one of us.

This long poem, written after the death of her mother, is an elegy to grief itself. Taken from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the epigraph at the beginning of the book reads: give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak. This is exactly what the writer has done. 

I love this dazzlingly original collection, which evokes a childhood in rural Cumbria. Jackself is the title character, but there are plenty of other Jacks in the poems, too – Jacks from nursery rhymes and folklore and English legend.

Jackself is a mostly solitary boy, and the poems take us into the strange, funny, frightening world of a child who lives on the edge of nature, sometimes seeming to become a feral creature himself. I was struck by the startlingly wild and fearless imagery of the poems, which make the natural world a darkly compelling place. 

I love this book because it’s an epic poetry book. The first of its kind. Three-hundred and ninety-six-page poetry book. Ariana Reines is one of my favorite top three modern poets as well. Poetry lovers should have this book in their collection. If not, what are you waiting for? It’s a masterpiece. I can see her soul in this book, I can see her heart. I can see her mind. It’s as if sand is literally under your feet as you read these poems divided into sections. This book is meant to be read slowly, like a fine glass of wine. It took me months to read it. It taught me that a poet is an artist and is a traveler of time and space. It taught me to break rules and to do whatever you want as a poet. It taught me to not limit myself as a writer… show more.

Poets have many tools at their disposal in their attempt to bring aesthetic unity to a long poem, and C. D. Wright is innovative in her use of imagery and cinematic grammar to do exactly that.

This is a book to be studied for its remarkable ability to convey, in what Auden called “memorable speech,” the beautiful doom of the common heart.   

A bracing slap to the face, this book. Or maybe a punch to the gut. The conceit is the series of portraits of hoarders based on the reality show of the same name, and the recipe is to combine their testimonials—“I save old soda cans and turn the tin snips into flowers,” say, or “I want desperately to change”—with lists of objects, described as though in a slow camera pan across a filthy room. But the alchemy is the way Durbin mashes the two together, not quite at random but not correctly either. It’s a harrowing litany of fragments, so specific that the unspoken point is all too clear: what’s broken is much bigger than any of these individual people or things.