Reviews

Wooroloo by Frieda Hughes

heypretty52's review against another edition

Go to review page

3.0

Branches of this collection snagged me, but it did not curl into my mind as poetry can. "Until he was all done up and inside/ His voice died. Better lost to him than stolen/ By someone he loved."

xterminal's review against another edition

Go to review page

2.0

Frieda Hughes, Wooroloo (Harper, 1998)

The back cover copy begins, “Welcome to the meticulously-observed world of Frieda Hughes.” I'm not inclined to disagree with that assessment, but I do feel the need to point out that how well one takes information in is relatively irrelevant if one is not skilled at sending that information back out.

“His bald cries echoed in emptiness,
His unspoilt chamber,
Banging on his walls like kindling.

He had not felt the thistle whip,
Or heard a woman cry.
He had not seen his children leave,

Or watched his father die, slowly...”
(“Birdman”)

(You know, they invented this thing called enjambment a thousand or so years ago that's really helpful when writing poetry!) While I give Hughes points for trying—every once in a while a good line or two does float to the surface—this is the work of a writer who needs to spend a good deal more time workshopping before heading back to the world of publishing. **

More...