A note on some poetry (drafted months ago...)

Time builds up and I start feeling guilty about this dumb blog. I should form better, more efficient reports on what I read, but some days I can barely check my e-mail (Levi + technology = haphazard joy, destroyed machines...). And some days I struggle to slip in any writing time at all--the blog is just lower priority, I guess. Forgive me for my inconsistency; I don't live up to my own expectations most of time.

I have now officially read all of Jane Austen's work. Perhaps this desire came because I am surrounded by boys. Pride and Prejudice is witty and passionate and quoteable--no wonder there are multiple versions of it. Plus it's a fast read. Persuasion is not appreciated enough. I haven't heard many people rave about it, and it can be raved over. Sense and Sensibility is such an interesting look at sisters. What I love about Austen is the interiority she reveals by focusing on exterior realities. Granted, sometimes certain books and authors just fit my mood.

I've also recently reread Dandelion Wine (that was to celebrate summer). Ah. And Cheaper by the Dozen (one of Wesley's favorites--and very fun). I've read a few others and they are logged away in Excel. Eventually I may just figure out GoodReads.

This post is actually about three poetry collections.

I didn't mean to read The End of Desire by Jill Bialoski. Wes ordered The End of Oil for one cent online, and the bookstore had the two mixed up in their catalogue. They told us to keep it and sent the money for shipping back. Neat. While there were some great lines and what Doug Thayer calls "moments of insight," the collection felt self-absorbed and strangely self-congratulatory in its confessional style (annoying). It made me remember why people resisit the idea of personal nonfiction and confessional poetry. I worry sometimes that my work comes across that way. It is easy to believe you're exploring when you can't see the larger picture. People who have already made the map, or at least seen it, have a different perspective.

The Clearing by Philip White is an immensely personal study of grief, healing, and time as he considers the death of his wife. He's in his thirties. Overall, I found the collection lovely but a bit redundant. Sometimes I buy into the idea that there are only three or so themes out there that we all choose from and cling to--but I still want surprise and joy in the language. I want to feel pushed from the inside out.