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3.77 AVERAGE
3.77 AVERAGE
I would say this is more of a 2.5 stars, because it might just be me. I enjoyed some poems from this, finding them both interesting and important, but others I just didn't understand or felt as though they were somewhat overwritten?
I could be wrong, just some parts seemed to me quite cluttered and I would try to figure it out but could not always do so entirely, and I'm not the type of person who would look up words when reading in my spare time, as it would make it more of a chore for me. Maybe for more academically inclined people, or for those wishing to thoroughly study what they read (which sometimes I will but not forcefully) I think this could be good. I don't know, maybe I just chose the wrong day to read this, but it just seemed to drag on and quite repetitive and I just ended up bored honestly. I found myself only liking and appreciating half, so for me it's not bad but probably wouldn't read again.
I could be wrong, just some parts seemed to me quite cluttered and I would try to figure it out but could not always do so entirely, and I'm not the type of person who would look up words when reading in my spare time, as it would make it more of a chore for me. Maybe for more academically inclined people, or for those wishing to thoroughly study what they read (which sometimes I will but not forcefully) I think this could be good. I don't know, maybe I just chose the wrong day to read this, but it just seemed to drag on and quite repetitive and I just ended up bored honestly. I found myself only liking and appreciating half, so for me it's not bad but probably wouldn't read again.
Cate Marvin's poetry is really well constructed. It feels dense when you read it. I feel like I am getting twice the information that I would normally get in each line. I loved Marvin's [b:World's Tallest Disaster|868590|World's Tallest Disaster|Cate Marvin|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1179043969s/868590.jpg|1134961] so I was eager to read this one too.
Somehow, Marvin's poetry is even more condensed in this book. The sentences are shorter, which might be why the words feel like they are packed even tighter?
It took me longer to read this book. It was at the same time, a pleasure and a torture to read. I am always so worried about the speaker in her poems. They are a mess, desperate, and angry. However, they describe their troubles with the most gorgeous language.
I think I might like Marvin's first book slightly better, but both are worth checking out.
This has nothing to do with the writing, but the cover is one of my favorites. It is disturbing and familiar.
My favorites in this collection: (Almost all of them have audio links. Her reading adds quite a bit to the poems.)
A Brief Attachment
Lying My Head Off
Nyquil
Love the Contagion
Colder, Bitterer
The Cate Marvin page on From the Fishouse is great.
Somehow, Marvin's poetry is even more condensed in this book. The sentences are shorter, which might be why the words feel like they are packed even tighter?
It took me longer to read this book. It was at the same time, a pleasure and a torture to read. I am always so worried about the speaker in her poems. They are a mess, desperate, and angry. However, they describe their troubles with the most gorgeous language.
I think I might like Marvin's first book slightly better, but both are worth checking out.
This has nothing to do with the writing, but the cover is one of my favorites. It is disturbing and familiar.
My favorites in this collection: (Almost all of them have audio links. Her reading adds quite a bit to the poems.)
A Brief Attachment
Lying My Head Off
Nyquil
Love the Contagion
Colder, Bitterer
The Cate Marvin page on From the Fishouse is great.
Wow, this was a really great book, full of strong poems built out of, duh, compelling images and really strong, charged, and wonderful language.
There were times when I wish we got away from the persona of the poet, as aggrieved and angry young woman, but really, it's a minor quibble, and where that persona leads these poems, and what the poems find there, is more than rich enough to make up for it.
There were times when I wish we got away from the persona of the poet, as aggrieved and angry young woman, but really, it's a minor quibble, and where that persona leads these poems, and what the poems find there, is more than rich enough to make up for it.
I loved this more when I read it several years ago, somehow. Perhaps it's a function of being less tortured myself, rather than any fault in the poetry. I do love how animate the world of Cate Marvin's poetry is, though - all slow moving beasts and rustling trash.
adventurous
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Love the title, love the cover. I found this collection a bit more abstract and harder to wrap my head around than the other poetry I've read, but overall enjoyed the collection very much. It's held together by a frank narrative voice dripping with rage, desperation, violence, and desire.
My favorite poems were "Your Childhood," "Practically an Orphan," and "Catatonia," with honorable mentions to "Cloud Elegy," "Gaslight," "Lying My Head Off," "Fragment of the Head of a Queen," "A Brief Attachment," "The Unfortunates," "Stone Fruit," "A Fainting Couch," and "Flood Museum."
From "Your Childhood"
...I picked it up hitchhiking: its mouth tugged on
a joint as it bragged that it wanted you dead. It got off
wherever I planned to head, said anywhere was where
it planned to end up....
Your childhood prying open a can, your childhood
waking you because it's afraid of the dark. For years.
Of the yellowing polar bear at that dank zoo that will
not stop banging its head against the concrete floe of
its habitat, you alone know the briny depths of its woe.
From "Practically An Orphan"
This is not about them, but what happens to them.
Pick a brick, a plastic bag, a gun, or any instrument
heavy with intent, since you are heavy in intent on
forgetting them. This is not about their good faces,
or about how it will happen while they sleep. ...
Gravity kills, not us. How else can a hammer fall?
There's more than one way to cut a person off mid
speech. Open the refrigerator of the heart and sniff--
something gone bad in the blood....
From "Catatonia"
If I see him again, how shall I know him? Mouth first
a jewel, then a jeweled scabbard, his knife then running
smooth against my throat. Spray of wisteria, spray of
the slashed jugular petaling out its roses along the walk.
....
...Shall I replaced it with the head
of a horse, make myself a centaur in reverse? Shall I call
the fire department, ask them to ladder it down? Must
I watch the twigs combing my black hair until the starts
are thumbed shut by dawn and my startled eyes close?
My favorite poems were "Your Childhood," "Practically an Orphan," and "Catatonia," with honorable mentions to "Cloud Elegy," "Gaslight," "Lying My Head Off," "Fragment of the Head of a Queen," "A Brief Attachment," "The Unfortunates," "Stone Fruit," "A Fainting Couch," and "Flood Museum."
From "Your Childhood"
...I picked it up hitchhiking: its mouth tugged on
a joint as it bragged that it wanted you dead. It got off
wherever I planned to head, said anywhere was where
it planned to end up....
Your childhood prying open a can, your childhood
waking you because it's afraid of the dark. For years.
Of the yellowing polar bear at that dank zoo that will
not stop banging its head against the concrete floe of
its habitat, you alone know the briny depths of its woe.
From "Practically An Orphan"
This is not about them, but what happens to them.
Pick a brick, a plastic bag, a gun, or any instrument
heavy with intent, since you are heavy in intent on
forgetting them. This is not about their good faces,
or about how it will happen while they sleep. ...
Gravity kills, not us. How else can a hammer fall?
There's more than one way to cut a person off mid
speech. Open the refrigerator of the heart and sniff--
something gone bad in the blood....
From "Catatonia"
If I see him again, how shall I know him? Mouth first
a jewel, then a jeweled scabbard, his knife then running
smooth against my throat. Spray of wisteria, spray of
the slashed jugular petaling out its roses along the walk.
....
...Shall I replaced it with the head
of a horse, make myself a centaur in reverse? Shall I call
the fire department, ask them to ladder it down? Must
I watch the twigs combing my black hair until the starts
are thumbed shut by dawn and my startled eyes close?