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69th out of 100 books
—
41 voters
Space, in Chains
"Kasischke's intelligence is most apparent in her syntactic control and pace, the way she gauges just when to make free verse speed up, or stop short, or slow down."—The New York Times Book Review
"Kasischke's poems are powered by a skillful use of imagery and the subtle, ingenious way she turns a phrase."—Austin American-Statesman
Laura Kasischke's poems have the same haunt...more
"Kasischke's poems are powered by a skillful use of imagery and the subtle, ingenious way she turns a phrase."—Austin American-Statesman
Laura Kasischke's poems have the same haunt...more
Paperback, 110 pages
Published
March 15th 2011
by Copper Canyon Press
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‘Get me a set of simple tools out of which to fashion a song for these.’
Space, in Chains is a feast of metaphors exploring the grim facts of life, love and death, and the way we are stitched together in an eternal chain of such knowledge as it moves towards eternity generation by generation. Kasischke strings together subtle connections between vibrant, varied ideas together, creating a sort of hazy, transparent glimpse at the heart of each poem. It is fitting that so many are simple entitled ‘...more
Space, in Chains is a feast of metaphors exploring the grim facts of life, love and death, and the way we are stitched together in an eternal chain of such knowledge as it moves towards eternity generation by generation. Kasischke strings together subtle connections between vibrant, varied ideas together, creating a sort of hazy, transparent glimpse at the heart of each poem. It is fitting that so many are simple entitled ‘...more
I really like Kasischke, and think she's a poet that's always worth reading, and this new book of hers is no exception. I say this even though the book makes me uncomfortable, and not necessarily in one of those good ways-- the occasion of many of the poems seems to be the death of her parents, and in the end, there are more poems on the death of her father than there are about her mother-- it makes me feel the same way when I teach Anne Bradstreet and the question asks why her mom gets this din...more
Skilled but depressing
So many books of verse coming out of the American creative writing establishment seem almost to be about the same person: middle-aged, middle-class, concerned with the mortality of themselves and others, haunted by memories of family dysfunction and failed relationships. It gets discouraging after a while, and this book doesn't do much to lighten the load. The verse is more skillful than is often the case in such books, with some interesting techniques of rhyme (both full a...more
So many books of verse coming out of the American creative writing establishment seem almost to be about the same person: middle-aged, middle-class, concerned with the mortality of themselves and others, haunted by memories of family dysfunction and failed relationships. It gets discouraging after a while, and this book doesn't do much to lighten the load. The verse is more skillful than is often the case in such books, with some interesting techniques of rhyme (both full a...more
I posted a review at Via Negativa. Here's how it started:
Poems clotted with wonder, terrifying as Rilkean angels, fertile and corrosive as volcanic ash. A poetry of grand pronouncements in a minor key, like Charles Wright with a more overt sense of humor and better rhythm. What can you say about riddles that remain recondite? Today, I never drank from the same coffee twice. Not warm enough to keep my furnace from kicking on, but still the bluebottle flies were flying and finding one another with...more
Her husband brought this book home from the magical place where most all the books in their house have come from--the best ones that move from bookcase to bookcase, the ones carried most and that, most often, while she and he sleep, seemingly try to slip out the door--again and again and so they must be pinned down with little notes in the margins, dark lines under their feet.
Space, in Chains is a collection of 72 poems by Laura Kasishke, whom she hadn't read or heard of until now and now she th...more
Space, in Chains is a collection of 72 poems by Laura Kasishke, whom she hadn't read or heard of until now and now she th...more
I love, love, love this collection. Kasischke is a deeply imaginative poet, and just wild enough to keep me engaged even as I feel I am free falling through a cloud of beautiful images. This collection volleys from the poet's rich domestic life--a dead, or dying, father, a son who seems to resonate beyond his years--to the natural world, to the cerebral and voided land of art and indistinct figures. The Rothko cover really sets the stage for what the book contains--feeling and thought, rich and...more
I want to be on the mailing list for her poems as fast as they hit the page. She inhabits a quirky imagination that is fully aware of being: a mom, of the girl she was, of being a mortal with mortal relations, of the far flung connections that thinking provokes. Whether commenting on a past lover or scanning cans in a supermarket, watching it work is breathtaking. Winner of this year's National Book Critic's Circle award for poetry, "Space, in Chains," is the latest in a list of other knockouts:...more
Did one of my favorite activities: arose early Sunday (at 7 am) sipped puer, white and green loose teas while reading Space, in Chains from cover to cover. I enjoyed the collection very much some great imagery and oddly juxtaposed ideas, images, etc. Then I ran 4 miles. A great morning, yes it was all alone time.
I don't feel well-versed enough in modern poetry to be able to say anything about how "Space, In Chains" compares to anything else, or if it merits all of the awards and distinctions that it's earned (from NYT, National Book Critics, etc), but I can say that for me it accomplished what I think all poetry ought to aim to do - leave me in wonder of how such big ideas and strong emotions can be conveyed with such an economy of words.
This is a really amazing collection, beautiful and moving and also often quite funny. Kasischke has a brilliant eye for images and a wonderfully subtle way of rendering even the most difficult moments (of which there are many, given the subject matter). The book is rich and smart and rewarding in every way.
Great imagery. Part III is definitely the strong point of this collection, and even though a few poems maybe could have been cut, she paints a beautiful sense of grief with her words. Strong scenes and emotions, although it is slightly repetetive. An enjoyable collection of poems to be sure. 3.5/5
Definitely my favorite Kasischke collection so far. I'd argue that she overuses italics, but, overall, it does everything poetry should: make you think, make you feel, make you sit up a little straighter in your chair.
This book had a lot of buzz about it and earned several awards in 2011. And it was, indeed, very good. However, I thought the overall volume was somewhat inconsistent. Thematically and tonally, there was a certain monotony that led me to think the book would have been somewhat improved if it had been several poems shorter.
On the other hand, when you run across Kasichke's good poems, you can't help but be impressed. Subtle pacing and haunting imagery result in a unsettling and unique vision of c...more
On the other hand, when you run across Kasichke's good poems, you can't help but be impressed. Subtle pacing and haunting imagery result in a unsettling and unique vision of c...more
very good, extremely formally accomplished poetry. there could have been a little more of something (i'm not sure exactly what), but what it did, it did really well
I loved the wild, thrilling juxtapositions in Kasischke's new book. A well-deserved winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award for poetry.
Brilliant book--it never gets dusty on the shelf because I keep going back to it over and over.
Sep 01, 2012
Maggie
added it
Little Christian.
Little lion.
Little cage.
Little door left open.
Right this way.
Little lion.
Little cage.
Little door left open.
Right this way.
A number of great poems here, but just as many that fell flat for me.
Good stuff, nothing I can add to it here. If you like poetry, read this book.
Lovely adult poetry, full of emotion, fleeting images, very nice.
Hauntingly beautiful poems, blew me away poem after poem.
Beautiful images but I just don't get it.
Really beautiful poems about grief.
Does Kesischke ever run out of images? My favorites were the riddles and "Summer," but there were just so many great poems. The only reason I denied this a fifth star was because Housekeeping in a Dream was just so amazing. Well done.
Unique voice. Love it!
poems
Well-crafted and sadly beautiful.
Read a good critical review. For me, poetry is subjective. I enjoyed her poems and look forward to reading her novel.
May 21, 2013
Don
is currently reading it
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Laura Kasischke (born 1961) is an American fiction writer and American poet with poetry awards and multiple well reviewed works of fiction. Her work has received the Juniper Prize, the Alice Fay di Castagnola Award from the Poetry Society of America, the Pushcart Prize, the Elmer Holmes Bobst Award for Emerging Writers, and the Beatrice Hawley Award. She is the recipient of two fellowships from th...more
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“--Your headache--
I am trying to imagine it
Your head is in your hands
The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate
November again
Too late
Your headache
It is a bird
Wounded, in leaves
Its sweet bird’s nest is full of pain in a distant place
November
There are daisies
In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely
And in a manic yellow hat, the old lady
And the old man, dead in his bed
And their daughter, the saint:
Her dark, religious hair gets tangled in the branches
She is screaming, grabbing
While the nurses play Mozart in another room
While the bats fly over the roof
Snatch the black notes from the blackness
Laughing
You cry
I am going to die
I can see them through this window
Their little black capes
The touching ugliness of their little faces”
—
1 person liked it
I am trying to imagine it
Your head is in your hands
The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate
November again
Too late
Your headache
It is a bird
Wounded, in leaves
Its sweet bird’s nest is full of pain in a distant place
November
There are daisies
In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely
And in a manic yellow hat, the old lady
And the old man, dead in his bed
And their daughter, the saint:
Her dark, religious hair gets tangled in the branches
She is screaming, grabbing
While the nurses play Mozart in another room
While the bats fly over the roof
Snatch the black notes from the blackness
Laughing
You cry
I am going to die
I can see them through this window
Their little black capes
The touching ugliness of their little faces”
“Home"
It would take forever to get there
but I would know it anywhere:
My white horse grazing in my blossomy field.
Its soft nostrils. The petals
falling from the trees into the stream.
The festival would be about to begin
in the dusky village in the distance. The doe
frozen at the edge of the grove:
She leaps. She vanishes. My face—
She has taken it. And my name—
(Although the plaintive lark in the tall
grass continues to say and to say it.)
Yes. This is the place.
Where my shining treasure has been waiting.
Where my shadow washes itself in my fountain.
A few graves among the roses. Some moss
on those. An ancient
bell in a steeple down the road
making no sound at all
as the monk pulls and pulls on the rope.”
—
1 person liked it
More quotes…
It would take forever to get there
but I would know it anywhere:
My white horse grazing in my blossomy field.
Its soft nostrils. The petals
falling from the trees into the stream.
The festival would be about to begin
in the dusky village in the distance. The doe
frozen at the edge of the grove:
She leaps. She vanishes. My face—
She has taken it. And my name—
(Although the plaintive lark in the tall
grass continues to say and to say it.)
Yes. This is the place.
Where my shining treasure has been waiting.
Where my shadow washes itself in my fountain.
A few graves among the roses. Some moss
on those. An ancient
bell in a steeple down the road
making no sound at all
as the monk pulls and pulls on the rope.”
Nov 02, 2012 05:20pm
Nov 02, 2012 05:23pm