second collection of poems (and her first in close to 30 years), is a book consumed not so much with mortality as with transience, of which mortality is one aspect. Another is the way our most casual choices come to define us, a process Pollitt likes to enact by letting casual-seeming analogies take over whole poems. "Death can't help but look friendly/when all your friends live there," she writes in "Old," "while more and more/each day's like a smoky party/where the music hurts and strangers insist that they know you."from The New York Times: Poetry Chronicle
also Winnipeg Free Press: Poetry: Subject, language meld into poetic voice
~~~~~~~~~~~
No comments :
Post a Comment