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korrick 's review for:
Selected Poems of Gabriela Mistral
by Gabriela Mistral
I've come to realize that my enjoyment of many a classically lauded piece of literature has as much to do with my acumen as my instinctive distaste for many of the themes that such writing has traditionally shut out: femininity, motherhood, child-rearing, and a host of other topics that have been frequently shunted off to the side of the artificially rendered sphere of influence that is the domestic woman. I've progressed to the point of realizing how nasty an attitude this is and being able to objectively appreciate, as I do here, how important it is for such subjects to be acknowledged and, within reasonable extent, glorified just as much as are the more conventional themes of warfare, skill development, and general satisfaction of one's individual ambitions. However, it remains the case that, if there is any particular instance of life that I am triggered by (and I mean triggered in the clinical sense, not how whatever fascist edgelord is spewing out these days), it is Mother's Day, and when it comes to treatment of such in my own personal case, the most effective methods include as much minimization of interaction as is within reason. Between this and [b:The Squire|3150216|The Squire|Enid Bagnold|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1504719317l/3150216._SY75_.jpg|3181751], I'm certainly getting a lot of practice at selective exposure (done on the level with which the individual is comfortable, by the way, not however some neurotypical "thinks" it should be done), but it wasn't until I sat and started to write about it here that I thought, hm. I may perhaps have subjected myself a tad too much to the subject for the past week or so. So, take this evaluation with a bag of salt, as I'm evidently far from the best person to be reviewing this.
Mistral had some poetry near the end that wasn't so grounded in the topic of children and the like that I was able to pull myself together enough for a more conventional reading. Throughout, what I especially liked was the emphasis on color, flora, and fauna, a grounding of the poetical in the physical landscape of sensory indulgences always doing me favors in the enjoyment side of things. A sprinkling of feminism was nice to see at times, especially when mingled with the odd vein of Christianity that does less and less for me as time goes by. The third to last, "The Flower of the Air" as part of 'Country With No Name', was the most successful, with its rich evocations of color, pagan narrative, and pleasing rhythm. Still, I wasn't blown away by that or anything else to push the rating any higher, and I'd like to think that the translator being Langston Hughes, half the reason why I bought the edition to begin with, had the required linguistic capability combined with poetic sensibility to make for a better translation than is on average delivered. I've already discussed to some extent my thoughts on why this was the case beyond purely narratological aspects, so I won't be delving into it further. Beyond that, while this is the most popular selection from Mistral's bibliography, it isn't the only one, and I'd like to give the author at least one more chance in my book before I call it quits.
Regardless of my personal, and obviously biased, evaluation, I will be trumpeting this first Latin American Nobel for Literature laureate and probable bisexual (definitely not monosexual at any rate) author for as long as it proves necessary. It's nauseatingly obvious why I barely see this author amongst the usual trumpeters of the Nobel Prize and other Eurocentric appraisals of literature, and it's just bad luck that my own issues make this particular selection of Mistral's work such a bad fit for me. It's worth mentioning that Ursula K. Le Guin is another famous name who tried her hand at bringing Mistral into English, so if that brings in a few more readers, I'm all for it. Hughes did mention focusing his translations on "children, motherhood, and love" and avoiding pieces such as 'Sonetos de la Muerte' for various reasons, so I imagine a different translation has a good chance in resulting in a less claustrophobic, in my case at any rate, thematic selection. For now, though, as soon as I get through 'The Squire', I am taking a good long break from this subject. This will not be difficult, as Mistral being my last challenge read by a woman of color means that a chunk of my reading priorities has opened up, a quarter which I intend to focus on the 21st century with no small amount of social justice. A tough topic in its own right, but one I can handle just fine, and I'm happy with doing so for the sake of those who cannot.
Mistral had some poetry near the end that wasn't so grounded in the topic of children and the like that I was able to pull myself together enough for a more conventional reading. Throughout, what I especially liked was the emphasis on color, flora, and fauna, a grounding of the poetical in the physical landscape of sensory indulgences always doing me favors in the enjoyment side of things. A sprinkling of feminism was nice to see at times, especially when mingled with the odd vein of Christianity that does less and less for me as time goes by. The third to last, "The Flower of the Air" as part of 'Country With No Name', was the most successful, with its rich evocations of color, pagan narrative, and pleasing rhythm. Still, I wasn't blown away by that or anything else to push the rating any higher, and I'd like to think that the translator being Langston Hughes, half the reason why I bought the edition to begin with, had the required linguistic capability combined with poetic sensibility to make for a better translation than is on average delivered. I've already discussed to some extent my thoughts on why this was the case beyond purely narratological aspects, so I won't be delving into it further. Beyond that, while this is the most popular selection from Mistral's bibliography, it isn't the only one, and I'd like to give the author at least one more chance in my book before I call it quits.
Regardless of my personal, and obviously biased, evaluation, I will be trumpeting this first Latin American Nobel for Literature laureate and probable bisexual (definitely not monosexual at any rate) author for as long as it proves necessary. It's nauseatingly obvious why I barely see this author amongst the usual trumpeters of the Nobel Prize and other Eurocentric appraisals of literature, and it's just bad luck that my own issues make this particular selection of Mistral's work such a bad fit for me. It's worth mentioning that Ursula K. Le Guin is another famous name who tried her hand at bringing Mistral into English, so if that brings in a few more readers, I'm all for it. Hughes did mention focusing his translations on "children, motherhood, and love" and avoiding pieces such as 'Sonetos de la Muerte' for various reasons, so I imagine a different translation has a good chance in resulting in a less claustrophobic, in my case at any rate, thematic selection. For now, though, as soon as I get through 'The Squire', I am taking a good long break from this subject. This will not be difficult, as Mistral being my last challenge read by a woman of color means that a chunk of my reading priorities has opened up, a quarter which I intend to focus on the 21st century with no small amount of social justice. A tough topic in its own right, but one I can handle just fine, and I'm happy with doing so for the sake of those who cannot.