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A review by yongxiang
Ararat by Louise Glück
5.0
writing book reviews to escape KI #2.
firstly, i want to say that i read a copy of this book signed by Ms Glück herself, courtesy of Dr He, which is very cool.
secondly, my friend Amanda said that Louise Glück's language is simple but her concepts are ~profound~, and i agree.
the poem "Brown Circle" is a personal favourite:
My mother wants to know
why, if I hate
family so much,
I went ahead and
had one. I don’t
answer my mother.
What I hated
was being a child,
having no choice about
what people I loved.
I don’t love my son
the way I meant to love him.
I thought I’d be
the lover of orchids who finds
red trillium growing
in the pine shade, and doesn’t
touch it, doesn’t need
to possess it. What I am
is the scientist,
who comes to that flower
with a magnifying glass
and doesn’t leave, though
the sun burns a brown
circle of grass around
the flower. Which is
more or less the way
my mother loved me.
I must learn
to forgive my mother,
now that I am helpless
to spare my son.
our parents have a big impact on us, which sounds obvious but is very true. i liked how the "brown circle" links to the cyclical way the speaker, just like her mother, ends up hurting her child... generational trauma. and not just hurting her child, but leaving a noticeable mark which cannot easily be healed - the grass is burnt, her son can no longer be spared. even the forgiveness at the end is somewhat bittersweet: the speaker only begins to empathise with her mother because she too has made a mistake. this poem makes me want to be a good parent in the future
firstly, i want to say that i read a copy of this book signed by Ms Glück herself, courtesy of Dr He, which is very cool.
secondly, my friend Amanda said that Louise Glück's language is simple but her concepts are ~profound~, and i agree.
the poem "Brown Circle" is a personal favourite:
My mother wants to know
why, if I hate
family so much,
I went ahead and
had one. I don’t
answer my mother.
What I hated
was being a child,
having no choice about
what people I loved.
I don’t love my son
the way I meant to love him.
I thought I’d be
the lover of orchids who finds
red trillium growing
in the pine shade, and doesn’t
touch it, doesn’t need
to possess it. What I am
is the scientist,
who comes to that flower
with a magnifying glass
and doesn’t leave, though
the sun burns a brown
circle of grass around
the flower. Which is
more or less the way
my mother loved me.
I must learn
to forgive my mother,
now that I am helpless
to spare my son.
our parents have a big impact on us, which sounds obvious but is very true. i liked how the "brown circle" links to the cyclical way the speaker, just like her mother, ends up hurting her child... generational trauma. and not just hurting her child, but leaving a noticeable mark which cannot easily be healed - the grass is burnt, her son can no longer be spared. even the forgiveness at the end is somewhat bittersweet: the speaker only begins to empathise with her mother because she too has made a mistake. this poem makes me want to be a good parent in the future