I bought this on sale at a local Powells-ish bookstore (they sell both new & used books) sort of because it was there - I wasn't familiar with Hacker's work when I bought the book. I did like these, but none enough to make this a keeper & none made it into my commonplace book.

I have some other poetry books to send to cordelia-anne so will include this.

CONTROLLED RELEASE NOTES:

Mailed to cordelia-anne

This was an interesting book to receive this last day of September 2009. I liked it that there was a poem inside called, September. I longingly turned to it, because it's been an odd September here in the Atlanta area. I found it was very urban, about Brooklyn. It seemed claustrophobic somehow, not what I was longing for at all. Still, I'm intriqued by the poems. I liked one short bitter one about farewells after disappointing love. I look forward to going through these poems.

I'll quote the sort of Autumn poem I'm longing for, Edna St. Vincent Millay's God's World:

O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

I want to be in love with the world. I suppose that's why I keep on reading poetry.

The first poem here, Geographer, is an elegy to "Link" or Luther Thomas Cupp. More well-known as Luther T. Cupp, he was a San Francisco writer known for his homosexual affairs apparently. He was editor of an underground publication called Cow. I couldn't find much information about him other than that, not even how he died. Anyway, I didn't much enjoy Geographer. It seems self-indulgent. These lines did strike:

Now I will be face to face with death
which has no face. I have had two weeks time
to heft and weigh and hold and swallow your death.
I have written a lot of lines that end with death.
I have held your death the way I hold my child,
but it has no weight and no voice. The death
of a red begonia from frost, the hibernal death
of the Horse-chestnuts, colored, odored words
pile up. But I have not found the words
to thread the invisible waste of your death;
the quicksilver veins threading the map of a city,
till the lights all froze out, all over the city.

Today, I'm thinking of Yazoo City and of the people who died there, caught up by a tornado. Those deaths were in the territory of my heart. I mourn them but like Hacker, find them remote.

I am grateful to labmomnm for introducing me to Marilyn Hacker. She's an interesting woman and a deeply accomplished poet, often anthologized. There is something about her voice that I can't really understand however. I can't really identify it but it interferes when I read her poetry. I will however keep on trying. I promised this to another bookcrosser quite a while ago and am getting it ready for its next destination. Sorry I've lingered so long. May the book have a great journey.

For lils74: a poetry book from far away. May it entertain and inspire you.

Thank you for this lovely book of poetry which arrived today with a friend (another book of poetry!) I am not familiar with this author but the reviews you have written have piqued my curiosity so I will let you know what I think when I'm finished it. All the best, and thanks again for sending these books to me, Cordelia-Anne!

Started this a few days ago, finished today, May 6. It began with promise, I liked the first poem “Geographer,” about death and loss—it felt very real and I could relate. Though this may sound odd to some, I find that poetry is a good medium for describing death and its effects on those left behind. From there on, though, it got a bit boring for me, though there were highlights—I found some beautiful phrases in the poems in the middle of the book. For me, poetry is something I want to be swept up in, find a connection or some link with. Like somehow I can relate to what the author is saying—not always exactly, generally is okay too. But I often struggled to understand the point the author was making in each poem, and sometimes it was the words themselves I just couldn’t understand. It’s good poetry, but I didn’t love it, and by the end, it felt like reading for schoolwork, though I did finish it, because I wanted to get the complete feel for it, and because I did enjoy the first poem a lot.
I've just now also read the JEs for this book, I always enjoy getting others' thoughts on things after I've read them. It sometimes gives you insights you haven't thought of. I will pass this on to another poetry lover. :)

I brought this book with me on an overnight trip to Nagarkot, a hilltop town with lovely Himalayan views that I took some visiting friends to, and I thought it was time for this book to travel, and poetry seemed to go with such a lovely, serene place. I hope the right reader finds it.
We had a lovely stay here and enjoyed the sunrise over the Himalaya… so beautiful.
I left the book on the table in the hotel's lobby that's covered with magazines, books, and newspapers, right in front of the reception desk. Happy travels, little book.