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thebeardedpoet's review
3.0
Overall what I liked about 44 Poems for You is the freedom demonstrated in writing poems for intimate friends and loved ones. I usually think of poetry needing to be more universal and intense, or at least artistic. But Ruhl demonstrates poetry can actually be a means of self-expression and connection in relationship with others. That's good. But my own bias about what poems should be still exerted itself and I judged most of these poems as fluffy, off-the-cuff notes written in lines like poetry. The title of the book itself tipped me off as to what I should expect. Despite that I found a handful of truly great poems which stunned me. Those are: "Watching my father breathe," "Dressing," "Red Leaf," "God Drank Soup from My Heart," and "Two, three, one."
poetkoala's review
3.0
I may need to read it again. I relate pretty strongly to writing with an implied “you” in mind. Usually I know who that “you” is, but sometimes it can remain a mystery.
philipkenner's review
4.0
I don’t know if a book of poetry can have spoilers, but I will be quoting some poems. If that counts to you as a spoiler (as it would for me), look away!
Anyone who knows and loves Sarah Ruhl is part of a secret circle of Sarah Ruhl fanatics. You can spot one from across the room, usually because they’re gushing about Eurydice or talking about a time they did a scene from Vibrator Play for their sophomore acting class. Sarah Ruhl fanatics, myself enthusiastically included, will love 44 Poems for You.
Sarah Ruhl is a scholar of form. This is clear in reading the poems alone, but you can also learn more from her thoughts on poetic structure in her most recent piece for the New York Times, “Broadway Is Closed. Write Poems Instead.,” or in her book “100 Essays...” which has a permanent spot on my bedside table. Some of the strongest poems in the book toy with structure. For example, in one of my favorite poems from the book, “Anniversary,” Ruhl plays with haiku structure with a Shakespearean attitude for syllabic trickery.
It starts:
“A little box of
days spent together, married.
What is it to be married.”
The syllable count there is 5, 7, 7. The next four stanzas are counted as:
5, 6, 6.
5, 7, 5.
5, 7, 5.
5, 7, 3.
The poem is moving in and out of order. The stanzas are always built as tercets, but the extent to which they follow the “rules” of a haiku vary. It is a beautiful meditation on married life that implies something larger about the certainty of marriage and its underlying order. A more pessimistic reading of the poem’s form could come up with an argument about the monotony of marriage, but that reading doesn’t hold water when you consider the poem’s hearth-y, almost domestic-pastoral imagery.
All the poems in the book, in one way or another, employ direct address. Over the whole collection, an intimacy develops between reader and speaker. However the “you” in each poem might be different. Sometimes the reader is cast as spouse, and other times the reader is a recently lost friend, a child, a colleague, among others. This is both a strength and weakness of the book. Ruhl sometimes describes her playwriting process as gift-giving; the theory being that when you write something as a gift for someone specific, it can only reach its zenith when given away. Ruhl’s writing is diamond-strong in this gift-giving mode. The generosity is nearly tangible, and it makes for an emotional reading experience. The consistent use of direct address does, however, lock Ruhl into a mission: to address. When every poem’s job is to speak directly to a “you,” even if that “you” is expansive, it is ultimately limiting. While the poems were breathtaking, I wish the book broke its own rules a little more.
The Afterword at the end is a short essay by Ruhl about how a “You” in poetry implies an “I” in the speaker. What’s ironic about my reading of the book was that this essay was one of my favorite parts! This is maybe because essay-writer-Ruhl is the Ruhl I experience most frequently, since I reread “100 Essays” alone and with my students often. I don’t mean to imply that the poems were weaker than this essay (as that would be apples vs. oranges), but the afterword was such a clear and emotional attempt on Ruhl’s behalf to elucidate what makes gift-giving, and therefore direct address, so valuable in poetry. The afterword made me want to go back and read the book again, and you know, I just might.
Lastly, the section of the book devoted to Max Ritvo was crushing and gorgeous. The poems titled “This is an automated recording...” and “Lunch with Max...” we’re particularly devastating. Ruhl writes in the first:
“And if there is a Jewish heaven,
it is here, on earth,
on Thirteenth Street:
you, shouting poetry
in a crowed room,
circling.
and wearing a pink kimono.”
In the second:
“Health does not belong to literature.
I wish it did.”
44 Poems for You is a love letter to love letters, a direct address arguing in favor of direct address. To read Ruhl is to become a “you” lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a such a generous “I.”
Anyone who knows and loves Sarah Ruhl is part of a secret circle of Sarah Ruhl fanatics. You can spot one from across the room, usually because they’re gushing about Eurydice or talking about a time they did a scene from Vibrator Play for their sophomore acting class. Sarah Ruhl fanatics, myself enthusiastically included, will love 44 Poems for You.
Sarah Ruhl is a scholar of form. This is clear in reading the poems alone, but you can also learn more from her thoughts on poetic structure in her most recent piece for the New York Times, “Broadway Is Closed. Write Poems Instead.,” or in her book “100 Essays...” which has a permanent spot on my bedside table. Some of the strongest poems in the book toy with structure. For example, in one of my favorite poems from the book, “Anniversary,” Ruhl plays with haiku structure with a Shakespearean attitude for syllabic trickery.
It starts:
“A little box of
days spent together, married.
What is it to be married.”
The syllable count there is 5, 7, 7. The next four stanzas are counted as:
5, 6, 6.
5, 7, 5.
5, 7, 5.
5, 7, 3.
The poem is moving in and out of order. The stanzas are always built as tercets, but the extent to which they follow the “rules” of a haiku vary. It is a beautiful meditation on married life that implies something larger about the certainty of marriage and its underlying order. A more pessimistic reading of the poem’s form could come up with an argument about the monotony of marriage, but that reading doesn’t hold water when you consider the poem’s hearth-y, almost domestic-pastoral imagery.
All the poems in the book, in one way or another, employ direct address. Over the whole collection, an intimacy develops between reader and speaker. However the “you” in each poem might be different. Sometimes the reader is cast as spouse, and other times the reader is a recently lost friend, a child, a colleague, among others. This is both a strength and weakness of the book. Ruhl sometimes describes her playwriting process as gift-giving; the theory being that when you write something as a gift for someone specific, it can only reach its zenith when given away. Ruhl’s writing is diamond-strong in this gift-giving mode. The generosity is nearly tangible, and it makes for an emotional reading experience. The consistent use of direct address does, however, lock Ruhl into a mission: to address. When every poem’s job is to speak directly to a “you,” even if that “you” is expansive, it is ultimately limiting. While the poems were breathtaking, I wish the book broke its own rules a little more.
The Afterword at the end is a short essay by Ruhl about how a “You” in poetry implies an “I” in the speaker. What’s ironic about my reading of the book was that this essay was one of my favorite parts! This is maybe because essay-writer-Ruhl is the Ruhl I experience most frequently, since I reread “100 Essays” alone and with my students often. I don’t mean to imply that the poems were weaker than this essay (as that would be apples vs. oranges), but the afterword was such a clear and emotional attempt on Ruhl’s behalf to elucidate what makes gift-giving, and therefore direct address, so valuable in poetry. The afterword made me want to go back and read the book again, and you know, I just might.
Lastly, the section of the book devoted to Max Ritvo was crushing and gorgeous. The poems titled “This is an automated recording...” and “Lunch with Max...” we’re particularly devastating. Ruhl writes in the first:
“And if there is a Jewish heaven,
it is here, on earth,
on Thirteenth Street:
you, shouting poetry
in a crowed room,
circling.
and wearing a pink kimono.”
In the second:
“Health does not belong to literature.
I wish it did.”
44 Poems for You is a love letter to love letters, a direct address arguing in favor of direct address. To read Ruhl is to become a “you” lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a such a generous “I.”
mpeverhart's review
3.0
The beautiful moments are worth mining for, but they are work to find and hold.
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