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bishop_504's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
slow-paced
5.0
I don't think any review I could write would be able to show how important this book has become to me, but I will try to write one regardless.
I bought this book at a thrift store last year. This thrift store didn't sell many books, and it was one of a few that lined a single bookshelf tucked away in the back. I had decided that I wanted to find a poetry book, and picked this one up because it had poetry in the title. Once I pulled the book out of the shelf, I almost immediately put it back. I cannot emphasize enough what a fucking horrid cover it has. What is going on here? It's a pink girly mess. Why is there a chair? There are not any poems about chairs. What's going on with the twisting title and weird glow around the letters? It looks fucking awful. Like 'Oh I guess I will try to give graphic design a shot, how hard can it be?' awful. However, the idea of getting a poetry book from a thrift store seemed so romantic and fun, that I decided to buy the book despite the gross pink cover. And I am so glad that I did.
I loved Vincent's poems. I get a certain amount of enjoyment in reading poetry from people in very different situations to me, and there are some shared experiences that all humans have, but there was something in Vincent's work that almost felt like it was for me personally. Like I was supposed to read that poem in that moment. It could be the stage of life that I am in currently, but I really resonated with the poems. Some of my favorites were: Renascence, Witch-Wife, First & Second Fig, Weeds, The Fawn, Sonnet, Conscientious Objector, Above these Cares, The Fitting, I will put Chaos..., and What rider spurs... There is a skill in more traditional poetry that I think in lost in some modern poetry, like the slow revealing of themes and ideas to the climax of a piece. An idea can be nurtured for longer until it means more. The traditional rhyme schemes and sonnets give the poems all a great rhythm that sounds wonderful when read aloud.
I did not know anything about Vincent before reading, and I was able to learn about them solely through their work. It felt like talking and getting to know a person. Each poem was a conversation where I learned more about them and their beliefs and what they valued and cared about. I watched them grow older and change through the years. I watched them go through breakups and heartache and come to terms with their mortality. Vincent's whole life is in this book. This book was a person so much like me that was born over a hundred years ago. Vincent is gone and this book is here, and I can know part of them through the words they shared with me.
I tried to take my time reading it, but unfortunately I have finished. It is strange, but I felt like the longer I spent reading the longer Vincent would be around, if that makes sense. Sort of the existential idea of our work leaving a trace of ourselves in this world even after we die. Did you know Vincent created the phrase 'my candle burns at both ends'? The poem the phrase is from is in this book. I had no idea. It's such a common phrase that everyone has said at some point. A concrete change to the English language. It's like each life is ripples on water, influencing the lives of all who come after. I don't know where I was going with this, but I assume that these are appropriate musings to have after finishing a poetry book like this. Please read it.
I bought this book at a thrift store last year. This thrift store didn't sell many books, and it was one of a few that lined a single bookshelf tucked away in the back. I had decided that I wanted to find a poetry book, and picked this one up because it had poetry in the title. Once I pulled the book out of the shelf, I almost immediately put it back. I cannot emphasize enough what a fucking horrid cover it has. What is going on here? It's a pink girly mess. Why is there a chair? There are not any poems about chairs. What's going on with the twisting title and weird glow around the letters? It looks fucking awful. Like 'Oh I guess I will try to give graphic design a shot, how hard can it be?' awful. However, the idea of getting a poetry book from a thrift store seemed so romantic and fun, that I decided to buy the book despite the gross pink cover. And I am so glad that I did.
I loved Vincent's poems. I get a certain amount of enjoyment in reading poetry from people in very different situations to me, and there are some shared experiences that all humans have, but there was something in Vincent's work that almost felt like it was for me personally. Like I was supposed to read that poem in that moment. It could be the stage of life that I am in currently, but I really resonated with the poems. Some of my favorites were: Renascence, Witch-Wife, First & Second Fig, Weeds, The Fawn, Sonnet, Conscientious Objector, Above these Cares, The Fitting, I will put Chaos..., and What rider spurs... There is a skill in more traditional poetry that I think in lost in some modern poetry, like the slow revealing of themes and ideas to the climax of a piece. An idea can be nurtured for longer until it means more. The traditional rhyme schemes and sonnets give the poems all a great rhythm that sounds wonderful when read aloud.
I did not know anything about Vincent before reading, and I was able to learn about them solely through their work. It felt like talking and getting to know a person. Each poem was a conversation where I learned more about them and their beliefs and what they valued and cared about. I watched them grow older and change through the years. I watched them go through breakups and heartache and come to terms with their mortality. Vincent's whole life is in this book. This book was a person so much like me that was born over a hundred years ago. Vincent is gone and this book is here, and I can know part of them through the words they shared with me.
I tried to take my time reading it, but unfortunately I have finished. It is strange, but I felt like the longer I spent reading the longer Vincent would be around, if that makes sense. Sort of the existential idea of our work leaving a trace of ourselves in this world even after we die. Did you know Vincent created the phrase 'my candle burns at both ends'? The poem the phrase is from is in this book. I had no idea. It's such a common phrase that everyone has said at some point. A concrete change to the English language. It's like each life is ripples on water, influencing the lives of all who come after. I don't know where I was going with this, but I assume that these are appropriate musings to have after finishing a poetry book like this. Please read it.
murphyc1's review against another edition
5.0
I haven't really read through and digested every poem in this extensive collection, but I will return to it someday. For now, I'm finished with the dense, sometimes devastating poetry of Millay. She really is one of the absolute greatest American poets.
kricketa's review against another edition
5.0
i first read this in high school after "baby" by patricia maclachlan referenced "dirge without music" and i fell in love with it. that is my favorite piece by millay but i also love her sassy/wicked/snarky love poems. or rather "end of love" poems. great read for a rainy sunday.
lovelymisanthrope's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
5.0
I picked up a copy of this book at a library book sale.
This book is a collection of poems from poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This collection is organized in sections, each with poems from different years of Edna's writing career.
This was my first experience with Edna's writing, and I am really happy I got to read a little bit of everything spanning her entire career. This style of poetry is not normally what I gravitate towards, because it is written with a little more structure than I typically enjoy. However, I really appreciated it in this instant and could really see the talent that Edna has with words.
I am intrigued, and I look forward to picking up more from Edna in the future.
This book is a collection of poems from poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. This collection is organized in sections, each with poems from different years of Edna's writing career.
This was my first experience with Edna's writing, and I am really happy I got to read a little bit of everything spanning her entire career. This style of poetry is not normally what I gravitate towards, because it is written with a little more structure than I typically enjoy. However, I really appreciated it in this instant and could really see the talent that Edna has with words.
I am intrigued, and I look forward to picking up more from Edna in the future.
mrspenningalovesbooks's review against another edition
5.0
I just love her poetry. Planning a poetry unit with her as an author study!! So many beautiful allusions and good examples of figurative language.
One of my favorites:
Grown-Up
“Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And Sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?”
One of my favorites:
Grown-Up
“Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And Sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?”
drivingman's review against another edition
4.0
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
lanternhillbooks's review
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
bethany_t's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
4.0