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shanviolinlove's review
2.0
Her first published collection, appropriately entitled "Firstborn," these poems I found to be not quite as memorable or potent as her later collections. I applaud the fact that she had begun writing these at twenty years of age! As I read through her work, I think this book serves as a piece within a holistic study of a poet's work, but it's not exactly a stand-alone, unlike some of her other books.
julienbakerstan69's review
3.0
fish bones walked the waves off hatteras
and there were other signs
that death wooed us, by water, wooed us
by land: among the pines
an uncurled cottonmouth that rolled on moss
reared in the polluted air.
birth, not death, is the hard loss.
i know. i also left a skin there.
—cottonmouth country
and there were other signs
that death wooed us, by water, wooed us
by land: among the pines
an uncurled cottonmouth that rolled on moss
reared in the polluted air.
birth, not death, is the hard loss.
i know. i also left a skin there.
—cottonmouth country
takeruoji's review
2.0
A simple lack of form isn’t a problem in poetry. A lack of form, content and language is a big problem in poetry. The one term which comes to mind while reading the first poetry collection of Louise Glück is raw. The language is raw, the contents are even more raw. Raw does not always mean bad. Raw emotions can convey strong feelings. But the raw here is a lack of everything what makes a good poetry collection. The poems are dull, in most cases as a reader I struggle to get any meaning out of them. In the end it feels quite boring. There are some repeated topics, but they are neither connected not strong enough in their unique poems. This really feels like the first step of a journey.
Not all is bad. In the last part there are some traces of good poetry — I do like the last poem, Saturnalia. But all in all I can’t really recommend this to anyone other than the people interested in the early raw works of Louise Glück. The other connoisseurs can move on to later works of the author.
postscriptum:
„The sunset leaked like steak blood“ may be the worst line in poetry I ever stumbled upon.
Not all is bad. In the last part there are some traces of good poetry — I do like the last poem, Saturnalia. But all in all I can’t really recommend this to anyone other than the people interested in the early raw works of Louise Glück. The other connoisseurs can move on to later works of the author.
postscriptum:
„The sunset leaked like steak blood“ may be the worst line in poetry I ever stumbled upon.