That behemoth of a book crushing my head is Alice Notley's 2007 book of poetry In The Pines, in case you can't read the entry heading. I don't know how many poets can get away with something like this, but I guess she must be some kind of big wig because a) she's on Penguin, and b) she decides to open her 130 page book (too long by 60 pages in my opinion for a poetry book) with a 65 page fucking multi-voiced prose poem. No thanks! Well, it's kind of interesting, although extremely tedious. Then the second section of her book is more boring prose. In fact, I skipped over most of it, which I never do with poetry books, but this book has also been a readbump (books I feel like I must read before I get to other more interesting books) for the past 4 months, so give me a break. Anyway, I read the last section which I was glad about because it was FUCKING TITS. I mean, it was good. A lot of interesting dissection of the ideas of form, the body (specifically female body, so maybe by using the slang term tits to describe something good I was being a bit disrespectful my bad Oprah), and how we classify ourselves in the physical world. So in conclusion this could have been the best 30 page chapbook I'd ever read if it wasn't for the other incredibly tedious 100 pages leading up to it.RATING: 67%
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9 comments:
Speaking of long-winded, this review is 10 fucking sentences long. What gives?
Well, I changed the description of the blog to be just short reviews, because it was too hard to review some things in five sentences without misusing a million commas, and also none of the other members of the blog were doing it.
When you directly address someone, set their name off with commas like this: "Sorry, Oprah, but I'll say it's FUCKING TITS if I like it, OK?" Otherwise, when you say "My bad Oprah," it sounds like you're in possession of a bad Oprah.
Feel free to come to my blog and dis' how I write. I tend to attach 2 or 3 tacky adjectives to every noun, and every post I write has to have an e.g. (like I'm some kind of master of double-talk and decoding) and a colon and/or a hyphen to set off something that just can't wait until the next sentence. Also, I use italics like a fucking valley girl.
I never liked poetry books consumed by prose poems; it just makes the book too formally monotonous. If I ever do get this book, maybe I'll just read the last section.
No, I know I'm misusing or not using commas, but I usually do it for comedic cadence. Maybe sometimes the tenor doesn't come across in what I'm trying to say.
I'd never read a 60 page poem unless it was written by Shel Silverstein.
I feel ignorant because I never read poetry. So does anyone know of a poetry book that is not too heavy or deep or creepy?
The aforementioned Shel Silverstein is a good place to start.
Or maybe Donkey Gospel by Tony Hoagland, or any Billy Collins book.
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