On Louise Glück's Winter Recipes from the Collective
"That is the gulf between Winter Recipes and The Wild Iris. Winter Recipes does not have that desperate thrust of life in it. It is not edging toward a release of splendor. The poems in Winter Recipes desire nothing except to shed desire, to strip down to some crystalline still point. The poems don't hold even a final flicker of eroticism, and they abandon the safety valve that desire provides. They don't long for seasonal resurrection or down-to-the-wire salvation or even the sputtering consolation of sex."
via THE RUMPUS |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Karen Anderson on Mihaela Moscaliuc's Cemetery Ink
"'Elegy for my mother's employer' is a case in point: love and precision ('your small frame/and freckled breasts') are shot through with fury ('Six months of this shit's enough'). This boss's flamboyant 'why not?,' is paired with a litany of her abuses....The end chimes with itself—Mother's 'fine,' rings with 'harm' and 'hell of time' and 'dying' and 'native ground' to remake her mother's apparent powerlessness as a calm that reaches beyond the arc of her employer's cruelty." |
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