Where Constraint and Freedom Coexist: Sonnets from a Cell by Bradley Peters

A Review by Zaria szabo

April 16, 2025

Sonnets from a Cell. Bradley Peters. Brick Books. $22.95, 96 pp., ISBN: 9781771316132

Poetry has always been a space where constraint and freedom coexist. In Sonnets from a Cell (2024), Bradley Peters takes this tension to new depths, using the strict form of the sonnet to explore incarceration, personal reckoning, and the human need for both structure and escape. The fourteen-line sonnet, often associated with love and philosophical reflection, is transformed into a space of containment, mirroring the physical and psychological restrictions of prison life. Through variations in form, repetition of imagery, and shifts in voice, Peters creates a collection that forces the reader to confront the uneasy relationship between confinement and self-expression.

One of the most striking aspects of Sonnets from a Cell is how the structure of the sonnet itself becomes a metaphor for imprisonment. Traditionally, sonnets rely on a predictable rhyme scheme and a volta, the shift in thought or argument that occurs midway or in the final lines. Peters, however, does not always adhere to these conventions. In some poems, the volta arrives late or is deliberately absent, creating a sense of unresolved tension that reflects the reality of serving time. The speaker's experience does not conform to a neat resolution, and neither do the poems. Similarly, while many of the sonnets retain the expected rhyme schemes of Shakespearean or Petrarchan sonnets, others disrupt this predictability, incorporating slant rhyme, erratic rhythms, and abrupt line breaks that reflect the instability of prison life.

Beyond structural choices, Peters also plays with the relationship between time and memory, another central concern in the collection. Incarceration distorts time, making it feel both stagnant and endless, a reality that is reflected in the collection’s recurring imagery and cyclical patterns. Certain moments—shadows cast by bars, the scraping of a metal door, the sound of footsteps in an empty hallway—reappear throughout the collection, reinforcing the monotony of prison life. At times, the speaker's past and present blur together, making it difficult to distinguish between what is being remembered and what is happening in real time. Many of the sonnets begin in the present tense, only to slip into recollections of past events, mirroring how memory intrudes upon the speaker’s daily existence. This movement between tenses suggests that time in prison is less a linear progression than a looping cycle, where the past is never fully left behind, and the future remains uncertain.

The speaker’s relationship to his own body is another key thread in the collection, reinforcing the theme of control and containment. Physical presence in a confined space is inescapable, yet the body itself becomes a site of both suffering and resilience. The poems frequently emphasize sensory details—the weight of silence, the feel of cold concrete, the way hunger gnaws at the edges of thought. These moments ground the reader in the reality of incarceration, making it impossible to romanticize or detach from the experience. At the same time, Peters suggests that the body is not merely a passive recipient of punishment but also a means of asserting presence. The simple act of breathing, of feeling, of being aware of one’s own physicality becomes a quiet resistance to dehumanization.

The question of identity runs throughout Sonnets from a Cell, with the speaker grappling not only with how he sees himself but also how he is seen by others. At times, the voice is defiant and self-assured, pushing back against the roles imposed upon him by the prison system. At other times, there is a sense of fragmentation, as if the speaker is observing himself from a distance. This shifting perspective is reinforced through Peters’ use of second-person address in certain sonnets, where the speaker refers to himself as “you,” as if struggling to reconcile his past self with his present reality. This technique creates a sense of detachment, as though the speaker is both participant and observer in his own life.

One of the collection’s most compelling poems, “Daydreaming in the Shower Before Lights-Out,” exemplifies the interplay between structure, voice, and theme. The poem begins with a request— “Ten more minutes, okay?”—immediately establishing a tone of negotiation, a quiet plea for a moment of personal agency. The next lines, “A poem is / a way of dreaming after what / I want and can’t have,” reinforce the idea that poetry itself becomes an act of resistance, a space where the speaker can articulate longing even when reality denies it. The enjambment across these lines mimics the stretching of thought beyond imposed limits, suggesting that while the body may be confined, the mind continues to search for moments of escape. By the end of the collection, Sonnets from a Cell has built a complex meditation on the nature of imprisonment—not just as a physical reality but as a psychological and emotional state. The interplay of structure and disruption, of repetition and breakage, mirrors the experience of incarceration itself, where routine and control are inescapable, yet the desire for meaning and freedom remains constant. Peters’ ability to wield the rigid sonnet form while simultaneously challenging its boundaries underscores one of the collection’s central messages: that even within the strictest confines, there are ways to push against limitation, to carve out space for the self.

Ultimately, Sonnets from a Cell does what the best poetry collections do—it forces the reader to see the world differently, to sit with discomfort, and to reconsider the relationship between form and experience. By inhabiting the strictest of poetic traditions while exposing its limitations, Peters crafts a collection that is as much about poetry as it is about survival, resilience, and the struggle for identity within confinement. His careful attention to language, structure, and voice underscores the paradox at the heart of the collection: that constraint does not silence creativity but, rather, amplifies its urgency. Through these tightly controlled yet emotionally expansive sonnets, Peters reveals that even within the most rigid boundaries, poetry remains a powerful means of resistance, transformation, and self-definition.

Zaria Szabo (she/her) is based in Hamilton, Ontario. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Youth and Child Studies and is currently continuing her studies at Wilfrid Laurier University. She has a strong interest in poetry, literary criticism, and contemporary literature, with a focus on writing that explores emotion, identity, and human connection.