ilybinaya's review against another edition
3.0
raw but not polished, it became a collection of poems that seem so shriekingly immature to those of Glück's latter works. thematically it is slightly voided and too focused on the young imaginations and holograms of marriage and the perceivable horrid that arises. the rest is a mixture of myths (in introductory level) and feelings that didn't dwell well to me. it seems flat at times and void of essence. Glück's flair in poetry, though, is very well present throughout the collection, which is how some of the poems still click for me.
bjayfogg's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
3.0
rachbreads's review against another edition
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
2.5
I sleep so you will be alive, / it is that simple. / The dreams themselves are nothing. / They are the sickness you control, / nothing more.
Part of my poetry experiment (nothing so exciting, just me reading a ton of poetry to figure out what I like, strengthen my lyric writing muscle, figure out what the poets have to say about the world today) is inevitably reading collections that are not for me and this was....not for me. I have read Louise Glück poetry before (isolated poems here and there) and loved them but I think my problem was this specific collection - first of all it was 4 books in one, and it was just too damn long, and also it was her first four books, and her early stuff is not very good, or at least not to my taste. I found myself doing a lot of skimming and by about halfway through I was really impatient to finish. I'm not totally out on Lousie Glück, if I were to try her again it would be a later collection, or just dropping in on single poems like I had before.
lovemyshelf's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
medium-paced
4.0
drivingman's review against another edition
3.0
Hmm, I'd like to revisit this, especially her book The Triumph of Achilles.
From Marathon:
"6 THE BEGINNING
I had come to a strange city, without belongings:
in the dream, it was your city, I was looking for you.
Then I was lost, on a dark street lined with fruit stands.
There was only one fruit: blood oranges.
The markets made displays of them, beautiful displays—
how else could they compare? And each arrangement has, at its center,
one fruit, cut open.
Then I was on a boulevard, in brilliant sunlight.
I was running; it was easy to run, since I had nothing.
In the distance, I could see your house; a woman knelt in the yard.
There were roses everywhere; in waves, they climbed the high trellis.
Then what began as love for you
became a hunger for structure: I could hear
the woman call to me in common kindness, knowing
I wouldn't ask for you anymore—
So it was settled: I could have a childhood there.
Which came to mean being always alone."
From Marathon:
"6 THE BEGINNING
I had come to a strange city, without belongings:
in the dream, it was your city, I was looking for you.
Then I was lost, on a dark street lined with fruit stands.
There was only one fruit: blood oranges.
The markets made displays of them, beautiful displays—
how else could they compare? And each arrangement has, at its center,
one fruit, cut open.
Then I was on a boulevard, in brilliant sunlight.
I was running; it was easy to run, since I had nothing.
In the distance, I could see your house; a woman knelt in the yard.
There were roses everywhere; in waves, they climbed the high trellis.
Then what began as love for you
became a hunger for structure: I could hear
the woman call to me in common kindness, knowing
I wouldn't ask for you anymore—
So it was settled: I could have a childhood there.
Which came to mean being always alone."