what is this. . .

. . . finally finished Kim Addonizio's book of poems what is this thing called love? It took me so long because I kept rereading each poem as I came across it. This book was written for me, despite whatever impetus Ms. Addonizio may claim!

Actually, what I like so much about it is the way the images work inside the poems, so softly but so starkly that they are glossed over. The poems all feel organic, but never rough or halting. I am not a huge fan of the form, but I admire what she is able to do with it when she tries - whether the poems are successful or not is another matter, and since I can't get past the admiration of her poems, I leave that to the individual reader to decide. But hands down a keeper. Such a keeper, that I have been hard pressed to leave the house without the book or remove it from my immediate vicinity. You never know when you may feel the urge to read a particular poem again.

I will most certainly be buying her other books. I have heard via the grapevine that she was at UNCW a few years back, and I lament the loss of not being here then. But hopefully there will be a future opportunity.

Other news: read Pope's Rape of the Lock again, after two or three years. I still love it. I think what I love most is the circumstance of his writing the poem, and the stately grandeur with which he handles the situation at hand. Talk about taking things out of proportion.

I think I may have discovered why I react so vehemently about rhyme in poetry. Rape of the Lock does rhyme, of course, in couplets, with a few slants tossed in now and again. Spenser's Faerie Queene rhymes, as does anything by Shakespeare, so on and so forth - but the big difference between why I like these particular pieces and not the ballad or other shorter rhyming poems (exception of the bard), is that they tend to aim for a colloquial iambic pentameter, and they are epic. It is the story, the way the lines progress with clever wit, and a keen eye to the limits of language. But mostly it is the story. This is part of the transition of poetry from an oral tradition to a written one - the loss of rhyme (thank you Milton, thank you!) and the shift of focus to the line break as a higher measure of the art and the limits of the English tongue (another huge thank you, dear, most difficult language) that render rhyme obsolete.

So, when I read Addonizio, and I don't detect the rhyme initially, I am gleeful at the skill it takes to use such an historical tenet of poetry, and modernize it so fully that it becomes invisible.

I am also fully aware that I may change my mind about rhyme in future. And I do like children's books that rhyme, mostly because they love the musicality of the language and when one is learning to speak it is easier to have that sing-songish sound to help the brain unfurl those complexities.

Onto the rest of my Sunday. There are more poems to read.