reviews
May 19, 2011
Whatever she is writing about, Ponsot has her way with her words. They sing. Perhaps my favorite poem, because of the last word in it, is “Persephone, Packing.” She writes of her dream, “It can’t die out or blossom; / it’s stuck in autumn, impacted, / its roots spidered, replete, / like the bulb narcissus, / like daffodil & hyacinth in bulb, / or tulips, daughtering.”
Feb 14, 2008
Too many gardens, Eden and otherwise, but it had its moments. Like this one:
ONE IS ONE
Heart, you bully, you punk, I'm wrecked, I'm shocked
stiff. You? you still try to rule the world--though
I've got you: identified, starving, locked
in a cage you will not leave alive, no
matter how you hate it, pound its walls,
& thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl
in your cell but I'm deaf to your More...
ONE IS ONE
Heart, you bully, you punk, I'm wrecked, I'm shocked
stiff. You? you still try to rule the world--though
I've got you: identified, starving, locked
in a cage you will not leave alive, no
matter how you hate it, pound its walls,
& thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl
in your cell but I'm deaf to your More...
Apr 14, 2008
This book is my standard. While I may never reach Ponsot's level, I can at least dream.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 13, 2011
Oct 12, 2011
Aug 19, 2011
Jun 07, 2011
Apr 23, 2011
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 21, 2010
May 22, 2010
May 16, 2010
May 02, 2010
May 02, 2010
Apr 14, 2010
Feb 20, 2010
Dec 31, 2009
Dec 14, 2009
Nov 15, 2009
Aug 26, 2009
Aug 01, 2009
Jul 09, 2009
Apr 23, 2009
Mar 13, 2009
Jan 14, 2009
Dec 16, 2008
Apr 14, 2009
