Poetry Books

After checking out Divine Comedies at the library and reading a few chapters of The Book of Ephraim, I knew I was willing to read the entire epic of The Changing Light at Sandover. Nearly six months later, after having read and reread Ephraim, Mirabell, Scripts and the Coda (the four sections of Merrill's magnum opus) I am ready to pass judgement. This epic is great but probably not GREAT. It requires a very heavy investment from the reader, not unlike Dante's Divine Comedy, or Joyce's later work. This investment pays dividends, but not the astronomical sort that one hopes when one is flipping through an opera dictionary, trying to discover Merrill's point.

Sandover is full of allusions, contradictions, and virtoso poetry, the latter being why I highly recommend it. As the other reviews tell you here, Merrill, elitist that he is, has not made the work accessible. Which is fine. So here is my short list of writers to be familiar with before you read it: Dante, Homer, Auden, Pound, Eliot, Proust, Wagner, Merrill's earlier work, Blake and Yeats. I also highly recommend Robert Polito's A Reader's Guide to The Changing Light at Sandover, which is more of a handy index followed by a compilation of reviews (including Bloom's and Vendler's) than say, a line-by-line explication of the sort available for Pound's Cantos. Thankfully, The Changing Light at Sandover does not require that.

The Book of Ephraim stands alone and whether you like it will probably be the best gauge of whether you will like the whole of Sandover. Mirabell I found very difficult going and, in all honesty can probably be skipped, like most people skip Purgatorio. Scripts for the Pageant is much more fun and The Higher Keys is really of a piece with it, tying up the loose threads. For all my pessimism, this really is the best modern epic I've found, a thousand times better than The Waste Land or Blake's prophetic works, or even Milton's Paradise Lost. The poetry and storytelling are so overwhelmingly confident that, once you have assimilated the scattered references, it is easy to get carried away. Large questions of free will, life after death and the nature of love are tackled with wit and sincerity. I'm glad I bought it and have it on my bookshelf. Since I put in the sweat, it is now a treasure-box I can open at any time.

There was a lot of attention given to Merrill when his Collected Poems came out, so I went out and read it. (The fact that I hadn't heard of him before should indicate that I don't read a lot of modern poetry). What was astonishing was how effortlessly the poems read, how thoroughly Merrill had mastered the technical aspects of the craft. The poems read as smoothly as prose, but line after line stayed in the memory - and when you went back you realized what a complex and subtle rhyme scheme many of the poems had.

But for some reason, there was a lot I could admire but very little I could love. They didn't just feel like exercises in style, but there was something too cool and smooth about their surface: there wasn't enough humanity in them.

The same isn't true of The Changing Light at Sandover. Don't be put off by the Ouija stuff: the heart of this poem isn't some sort of half-baked spiritualism, but simply the relationship between two people that love each other - the poet and David Jackson.

Let me quote a line from The Book of Ephraim that I memorized without trying, just from reading it a few times. The same technical mastery is there, but now there's something alive in them. Enough of the other reviews tell you what the poem is about, so here's a sample of how beautiful this strange masterpiece can be in its smallest details:

We take long walks through the turning leaves
And ponder turnings taken by our lives.

Look at each other closely, as friends will
On parting. This is not farewell,

Not now. But something in the sad
End-of-season light remains unsaid.

The Changing Light at Sandover is Merrill's magnum opus. It is also the greatest example of epic poetry in modern literature. Divided into four sections (four being a mystical number [seasons, elements, etc] and possibly alluding also to Eliot's "Four Quartets"), Sandover, is, as far as I am aware, the longest single poem in the modern cannon. Yet length alone is not what qualifies this as an epic poem. Like all true epic poetry, it borrows heavily from its classical predecessors, so Homer, Virgil, Dante, Milton and even Tasso are alluded to throughout the poem.

The method behind the poem is fairly well known, and is in fact included in the poem's narrative. Merrill and his life-partner, David Jackson, would ritualistically cleanse themselves for a stipulated period, then consult the spirit-world by means of an Ouija Board. Merrill served as a kind of amanuensis, taking dictation from spirits from another dimension and translating the messages into poetry.

Merrill has been branded as an elitist by some, and there is no getting around the fact that he did consider himself and his partner as members of an order higher than that of most of mankind. He believed in a quasi-Gnostic hierarchy, wherein human beings are ranked according to their spiritual development. Unfortunately, the belief system he invokes leans more closely to Third Reich mysticism than to Buddhism or Hinduism. A great many people, according to Merrill's tenets, don't even have souls. They exist only on an animal level. One can see where this sort of thinking can, and has led.

I don`t want to infer, however, that Merrill, or this work, are in any manner political or polemical. This is a true work of art, full of imagination and of ideas. The sheer scope of creativity on display in "Sandhurst" is unsurpassed in the past 100 years of poetry, with the possible exception of "The Waste Land." It should be read and studied (and hopefully, cherished) by all lovers of literature. Whether or not Merrill existed on a higher plane than most of us is certainly debatable, even questionable. Whether or not his excursions into other spiritual realms were "real" or were delusional is also debatable. What is not debatable, is the fact that he produced a remarkable and very important poem in the process.

First of all I felt somewhat intimidated when it came to starting this epic work. I was afraid that my own background might prove inadequate for a product of such ethereal literary heights. It came as a relief when I found that I was well enough read to appreciate the majority of the literary and cultural references (at least I believe that I did.) Part of this was no doubt due to what I brought to the work, but equally part was due to the poet's uncanny ability to draw you in and connect you with the most intimate and obscure reference. I actually felt like I belonged to the circle- that I might be able to hold my own in such august company. This company included not only the poet, his partner, and their friends, but also the supposed spirits of Plato, Pythagoras, Robert Morse, Wallace Stevens, W.B. Yeats, Maya Deven, W.H. Auden, and even more.

So much for the exquisite and impressive poetic and literary aspect of the epic- the metaphysical basis was a another matter. Here I felt more than adequate. It is reported that Merrill and his partner styled themselves as metaphysical adepts. Indeed they drew the old criticism of being "spiritual elitists." Frankly, I do not sense that they were such. Such individuals exist, but they do not naively and uncritically seek out contact with the lower astral plane via ouija board. They do not take at face value the identities and messages of the beings so contacted. True, this may provide "interesting" material for the poet to run with, but it is of dubious value otherwise. In fact, some of the specific information (such as no souls escaping Hiroshima) just sounds plain wrong. As for three billion dead in the immediate future, or Mohammed being the servant of the Adversary and destined to bring about the last holy war, well, I'll let you judge for yourself. There is also something about treating the subject of spiritual patrons and the pattern of the wallpaper with seemingly equal weight in the poem that is somewhat disconcerting...

Just the fact that multiple "characters" reveal in the course of the poem that they are not who they originally said that they were (sometimes for decades) should tell you how much credence you should place in anything that they have revealed.

What irritates me is that some would equate this work with William Blake's. Yes, it is a remarkable work of art, an exquisite poem, but it is not Revelation. You have about an equal amount of gems and dross in a most impressive setting. However, it is up to you to judge which is which. You see, a true poet-prophet (such as Blake or Dante or Milton) rely on their own direct, intuitive connection with the Divine, and not upon a secondary entity to contact the Essence that will impart true immortality to their work. But then again, as far as I know, the poet himself never claimed that this was anything more than a most skilled riff of poetic art. It is indeed that.

The stage adaptation is included in the back of this volume. It is my humble recommendation that you read it first in order to make the main poem a little more accessible.

One furthur note, the "God B" refered to so often here is obviously the Demiurge- Yaltabaoth.


"Now the archon (ruler) who is weak has three names. The first name is Yaltabaoth, the second is Saklas ("fool"), and the third is Samael. And he is impious in his arrogance which is in him. For he said, `I am God and there is no other God beside me,' for he is ignorant of his strength, the place from which he had come."
---Apocryphon of John, circa 200AD

How can I start a review of the book that captured me into poetry? that led me to actually read and enjoy Dante and Milton? that even led me to reading odd epic poems and novels in verse that rarely make it into the top million rank here on Amazon?

How about "Great book - a life-changer in wholly unexpected ways."

I got my copy gratis back when I was doing occasional book reviews of the more traditional sort and not the slightest bit interested in the slender wisps of poetry that crossed my desk. There was something different about this one, though. This was five pounds of poetry ! Five-hundred and sixty pages ? One poem? How could that be? WHAT could that be?

But you've got to decide whether to spend a few bucks here, your situation is different. So the real question is what brought YOU to this page in Amazon. Needless to say, my five-star rating means that I will try to convince all comers to read "Sandover", but you must realize that you are a rather lonely explorer to have come this far. Your path reveals the nature of your search.

Maybe you've read some of Merrill's other work from the recent, rather successful "Collected Poems". Wonderful! While the critics can tell you about commonalties in all those poems, you probably noticed more of the vast range in that collection: from the tiny, surgically incisive "Little Fallacy", to the weirdly evocative "Lost in Translation" (bet you read that one more than once), to the extended, languorous narrative of "The Summer People", to the challenging and often enigmatic mythos in "From the Cupola."

This wholly different last pair, my favorites, were unexpectedly conjoined as the only two poems in the UK-published early book entitled "Two Poems." Together, they hint best at what "Sandover" will deliver: carefully crafted narrative and delight in poetic form along with intellectually challenging and sometimes cryptic layering. Expect some strangeness wrapped in a reassuring pale, cream cape, until the cape is tossed back to reveal a startlingly, spookily omni-dimensional vision. Sounds like fun ? Jump in...

I guess it's possible that you came here after reading Alison Lurie's recent lurid little "literary memoir." If so, congratulations for stepping over that indelicate little pile to consider the man's most epic work, instead of a shrewish listing of his peccadilloes. Of course personality and autobiography inevitably fuel poetry, and Merrill's "Sandover" is no exception. You might even, legitimately wonder, as I did, how the poetry of a rich gay man, who sounds suspiciously like an aesthete of the flightiest sort in Lurie (and apparently had a weird, mystic streak) can do anything more than entertain you. And how is that possible for 560 pages ?

You won't find the glib and thoughtless dilettante of Lurie's portrayal lurking beneath "Sandover." Merrill was not an overtly autobiographical poet, but he collected the pieces and wrote the tale of Sandover through 20-odd years of his life, In doing so he revealed the reality of privilege without arrogance, mysticism within a wry skepticism, and appreciation of love and beauty in all their forms. "Sandover" is actually a fine place for one who is neither gay, nor rich, nor mystical and, perhaps, like me, aesthetically-challenged, to get drawn-in to a world that twines these elements together in an endlessly interesting and attractive way. If you've read Lurie, I think you will find "Sandover" an especial pleasure - a much more graciously framed journey toward much more extraordinary horizons.

I suppose you might be here because you have developed a taste for the long poem: the epic or the novel in verse (maybe from my own `listmania' list of such works right here on Amazon). If so, you face a more interesting challenge. "Sandover" will offer many things that are familiar but probably some quite different. If the story in Vikram Seth's "Golden Gate" captivated you, you will find a quite compelling story here - but not one quite so down-to-earth. If the different cultures circumscribed by Walcott's "Omeros" or even Budbill's "Judevine" intrigued you, you will find other worlds here - otherworldly locales, indeed.. If Merwin's "Folding Cliffs" satisfied while it challenged you as a reader, you will find "Sandover" to be a surprising combination of the eminently readable and the multi-layered and re-readable. If Dante's, Milton's or even Frederick Turner's epic reach inspired you, you can count on "Sandover" to take you to the inner and outer reaches of the universe.

Finally, of course, you might be here just because you've heard that James Merrill was one of the finest poets of the 20th century. He was. In "Sandover" he combined many, many talents - as a formalist and as an experimenter in form and as one of the last poets to show a pure delight in words and their infective enlodgement in the human brain. The atomics of the poem satisfy and surprise no matter what magnification your readerly microscope is set on. Over and over you will find yourself startled at a just plain perfect piece of short verse - as tersely powerful as William's "red wheelbarrow." Then you will find yourself so captured by the narrative of the story, that only part-way through will you realize that you are in the midst of two pages of elegant "terza rima." Even the largest structural elements partition, loop-back and break off in ways that build a magnificent whole that is as captivating in its large-scale structure as in its single word choices.

Sandover is an endlessly captivating work - I've read it, all 560 pages, four times in ten years, and still pick it up and read a section or two every few months.

This is a great book. It's a nice mix of the ones we remember as children and a few more we wouldn't readily remember.
This is for the child who has a healthy appreciation for the art of Edward Gorey and the humor for Monty Python and love Lon Chaney. Trust me, there are these children out there, they really are under the age of 8 and they are very hard to buy books for.
What's really wonderful, for the adults who are finding their lives now revolve around reading stories to small children who remain illiterate, this book offers a lovely change from the norm. Honest to god, If I have to read one more Pretty pony story I am going to hunt that pony down....
I recommend it for children of all ages, even if you dont' have your own, it's just so worth having.

With the recent publication of Random House's, "Charles Addams: A Cartoonist's Life", by Linda H. Davis, rival publishers appear to be looking to their own overstocked warehouses to take advantage of this newest Addams literary craze. At least, that's how I'm interpreting the sudden reappearance of books like Simon and Schuster's, "The Charles Addams Mother Goose", which originally made its republished debut back in 2002, onto our bookstore shelves. Not that I mind, of course. Any republication of the Addams repertoire is fine with me, and had S&S not started sending out this book once again I never would have known what a fine complement C.S.A. made to some of the darker nursery rhymes out there. Mother Goose books come and go, but if you want to go for the memorable, the dark, and the amusing then there really is only one title you should even begin to consider. And it sports a Stephen King by-line on the cover.

Told in about 28 different nursery rhymes, "The Charles Addams Mother Goose" is everything you might expect from that most famous of New Yorker cartoonists. Here you can find all your favorites word-for-word, accompanied by the most peculiar of pictures. The mouse from "Hickory Dickory Dock" takes on enormous proportions. Jack Sprat and his wife seem to have eating habits outside of what we might consider the norm. Even the three blind mice are included, though the carving knife is now of the electric variety. The familiar Addams family characters do indeed make an appearance in some of these poems, and always in a fashion that seems tailor made for them. Plus it takes a kind of genius to be the illustrator who decides that the reason all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again was because out of Humpty hatched a baby dragon/dinosaur/scaly creature. Certainly the unique Addams brand is clear and present in every pic.

Kids who read this book, and there will be quite a few, may find themselves in later years wholly unable to separate Addams' vision from certain peculiar rhymes. Take, for example, that old chestnut "Solomon Grundy". Entirely apart from the fact that his name is now synonymous with a Batman villain, his story here is told in seven/eight panels. "Solomon Grundy, Born on Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday. This is the end of Solomon Grundy." Addams really takes the poem even further, though. His Grundy resembles a slightly undersized and grumpy Uncle Fester. And once he's, "Died on Saturday", his body resembles nothing so much as a cloud of dirty air. Then, wonderfully inexplicably, that same dirty air is put into a corked bottle and thrown into the sea with the line, "Buried on Sunday." It's this kind of random twist on old stand-bys that gives this collection just the right burst of original peculiarity. I'm not even gonna go into the eyedropper of holy water on the second panel or the mysterious mushrooms that grow out of Solomon's head on Thursday.

So which poem wins the Most Likely To Disturb Already Wary Adults Award? It's a toss-up, to my mind, between "Mistress Mary, quite contrary" and "Wee Willie Winkie". On the outset, neither poem seems particularly dark. In "Mistress Mary" however, an unhealthy waif of a woman with dark-lidded eyes and a lifeless expression waters mushrooms in a darkened basement. Lit only by a single bare lightbulb, the mushrooms have begun to sprout feminine heads, each with the creepy cheer of a babydoll's face. The picture looks almost institutional, what with the pale blond's stare into nothingness and the mushrooms' eerie plastered smiles. Compare that, however, to "Wee Willie Winkie". In that picture a boy and girl stare aghast at a window where a ghoul in a nightcap stares unblinkingly at them, his right hand ah-rapping at the pane. The whole picture is tinted a sickly green and blue and you've the feeling that the little boy who is not in bed could be in for some trouble soon.

When you get right down to it, however, maybe the most disturbing part of this book is the Foreword written in 2001 by "Mrs. Charles Addams". In this section, the woman gives a bit of context to the original publication. It came out in the midst of Vietnam. It could be credited to two equally possible sources. But Mrs. Addams goes even further and finds in Charles's work an odd source of, of all things, comfort. "How wonderful to find a dinosaur inside Humpty Dumpty, rather than worrying that he had fallen and couldn't be repaired. Or being reassured that the old woman who lived under the hill had all the comforts of a real home and was better for it." You'll note that she makes no mention of the vampiric Doctor Fell who's poem reads, "I do not like thee, Doctor Fell" or the leather-clad specter of death that shakes hand with a little girl by a graveyard. Countering such an Intro, however, is the remarkable "Mother Goose Scrapbook" compiled at the end of the book. In it we see a poem that "for reasons unknown" was pulled from the original book moments before publication. In it, a worried shepherd holds open the doors of a fallout shelter as his lambs pelt past him into the darkness. A mushroom cloud erupts in the distance. Says the poem, "A red sky at night is a shepherd's delight. A red sky in the morning is a shepherd's warning." Since we've already determined that the book came out in 1967, I doubt the reason for the deletion is all that mysterious at all. Other choice details include New Yorker covers, photographs, book jackets, and even a drawing Charles made at the age of four.

Charles Addams has a following not too dissimilar to the Edward Gorey fans out there. This collection, however, demands to be owned by people outside of the regular obsessives. You can't say that Addams' visions of these nursery rhymes are anything but logical extrapolations. What's more, after repeated viewings they insinuate themselves into your unconscious. I'll never hear "This is the house that Jack built" without visions of knives, bulldogs, and dirty rats again. And I'm okay with that. A must-have purchase for anyone with a penchant for the peculiar.

In 1973 I was in second grade, and this was my favorite book to check out of the library. The only problem was, it was also a lot of other kids favorite too! I was always on the waiting list for it!!! The illustrations have been in my mind for over 30 years, and several years ago I tried to purchase it, only to find it out of print. I was so excited to find it recently rereleased. I now have my own copy, and am as fascinated by it today, as I was in second grade. The pictures are awesome, and show the true stories at the dark heart of nursery rhymes!!!It's a creepy little safe scare for adults and children alike. A really great book!

As only Chas Addams can do, the innocent nursery rhymes take on new meaning with these wonderfully ghoulish illustrations proving that a picture is worth more than a thousand words. I first read this book in the bookstore when I was 9 and purchased it with my saved allowance. I still have it and re-read it once per year. Sometimes I wonder if Chas Addams succeeded in capturing the soul of these well known verses better than any illustrator ever has. I recommend you purchase this book, light a fire on a stormy autumn evening and enjoy this book by candlelight with your own little fiends.

I was so pleased to find a re-print of this, the Mother Goose of my childhood. Yep, my parents gave me this Charles Addams -- and I've never been quite right since.
The hours I spent poring over pictures of the cadaverous Wee Willie Winkie, the Frankenstein-esque Dr. Fell, and little Wednesday Addams skipping rope alone, under a single streetlight . . . all these wonderful frissons were restored to me with this re-issue. Mother Goose wears Chuck Taylors!
If you love Gorey, Burton, and Lynch, you'll love the "Charles Addams Mother Goose."

Hi I'm Zoe Whilton, and Childhood Hills is an excellent book. Each poem is a masterpiece of its own. My favorite poems are, "The Lie", "The Elevator", and "Your First Day at Dolly's" (by Annemarie Mullan Whilton, aka my mother, I am the girl at preschool, my sister is the one crying). I hope that Pat Mullan continues to write poetry.

Reviewed by Diane Morgan - Editor, ... .

Pat Mullan takes us on a poetic journey through Ireland, the world and childhood. His evocative poetry creates for us lush landscapes, towering cities and weeping hearts that share the sorrow within all of us.

Relationships are key to his poetry, love, loss and remembering. I truly enjoyed his style of writing; it wasn't at all like the rhyming cliché poetry we are overburdened with as we read aspiring poets; it has a rhythm all its own; one could almost hear an Irish lilt to it.

He adds to the end of his book a section in memory of James Dickey that is poignant and stirring reminding us of the vast heritage we have of poets often forgotten.

Childhood Hills
by Pat Mullan

Reading this collection of poetry and writings was like holding a conversation with a very interesting person who can fascinate with a hypnotic flow of words. His muse is an old country bard who whispered secrets of the ancient days in the poet's ear. Pat Mullan has translated those secrets onto these pages.

You will be moved to joy and sorrow as you traverse the winding path over these Childhood Hills. Within these hills dwells a child who remembers the man he was, not a man dreaming over a lost youth. He still lives in the poetry contained here.

This author is a spirit freed from the fears of childhood that we all have shared, no matter what shape those fears take, what horrid dreams they inspire. If you allow him, this poet will guide you through imagery and images, familiar and strange, to a destination where understanding waits.

A poem is music of the soul that takes its inspiration from ordinary events, places, and people. It is a music you hear with your heart. I recommend you read Childhood Hills slowly and listen carefully. It will quicken the spirit that lives within.

I am the author of "THE FEELINGS AND IMAGINATION OF A BAREFOOT BOY STILL INSIDE MY HEAD!: Poems and Short Stories for Boys and Girls Ages 9 to 12," which will be available online soon! I bought Childhood Hills to read another author's poetry. In Pat's book, here are several of my favorites: THE QUARRY HOLE, WE NEVER TALKED, BICYCLE RIDE, SMALL VICTORY, GRANNY BUNTY'S BUTTON BOX, and MY CAT (this one is by Annemarie Mullan Whilton). As I read, Pat's poetry created a vivid picture in my mind. The poems about Pat's childhood were particularly moving. Great Book Pat!

It's an amazing way of painting a picture from a really interesting life and Childhood of this irish author. For me it was sometimes intellectuall demanding and sometimes easy to follow. My Favourites are: 'The turning point' and 'Granny Bunty's Button Box'

There is so much to praise here, where do I start? How can I possibly communicate what these poems mean to me? "Renascence" alone takes my breath away - "The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through." These words too, allow the divine to shine through. "Interim" is, perhaps, as beutiful a poem as I have ever read. The author brilliantly captures the essence of loss, that grief and confusion, the mind's inability to accept the notion of a life alone: "...part of your heart aches in my breast; part of my heart lies chilled in the damp earth with you. I have been torn in two, and suffer for the rest of me..." There are still so many other passages that leap off these pages. Her phrases are like literary gem stones: Sonnet XXVII: "I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year" - could it be said any more succinctly? This collection is a must for anyone who cares at all about poetry - American or otherwise.

This book of collected poems is the most treasured book that I own. My copy is absolutely falling apart - I have to keep it in its own special box.

Over the years, I have worn the binding to pieces touching, flipping, - and don't hate me - earmarking the pages of this book when I wanted to remember something and couldn't find a spare scrap of paper for a marker. There is something so exposed and fragile about her work and, at the same time, she is very strong and beautifully resolved to her observations. She doesn't communicate in frilly riddles. She speaks to everyone. "Here in a Rocky Cup" on page 471 is one of her finest. It may break your heart! Enjoy.

how delightful to find a beautiful copy to introduce my granddaughter to Edna St. Vincent Millay.

"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied/ Who told me time would ease me of my pain!"

Old and wise beyond her years, Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote the majority of her most beautiful and famous works at a startlingly young age. One of few moments of comedy in Millay's otherwise (too) serious, brief life, was that as a published and award-winning poet while still in her teens, Millay entered college literature courses, taught by older teachers there to `instruct' her, even though they, themselves, had in most cases never published a line of verse or captured a single award!

"I burn my candle at both ends/ It will not last the night...."

This famous and oft quoted line about living the hectic life was Millay's, but many have forgotten that. A half-century after her passing, she is largely unremembered, lost among a crowd of later, lesser writers, ignored by subsequent ages that placed scant value on poetry. Hers was a life often lived invisibly behind her words. Though the events of her personal life, with her promiscuity and radical ideals, at times gained notoriety beyond even her professional achievements, Millay the poet is the force this book celebrates. Even the biographical section in this anthology is terse and respectful, which I found befitting. Edna St.Vincent Millay's poems, from the startlingly powerful Renascence, to her sonnets (the best composed in the English language in centuries) to her final experimental output at the time of World War Two, everything Millay achieved succeeds in taking the consciousness of an attentive reader into a higher realm, where the mind and soul are meditatively fused as at few other times in the human lifetime, and the voyage is one of utter transcendence.

When I read the selection, "All I have is Rain," it stirred me so that I had to have it open my novel. She agreed without hesitation. It was as if she had read my manuscript. She hadn't. That poem spoke to my protagonist's heart and soul.

Bridgette Alyce has a touch that you cannot forget long after you've read her words. She is a poet extraordinaire. I rate this book 5 stars.

...Poetry does more than stir one's soul. Good poetry provokes multi-level thinking and excellent poetry ties those thoughts in with the spiritual, emotional, sociological, and other aspects of a person's essence. Author Bridgette Alyce Greathouse Wynn has composed a book brimming with excellent poetry. COME, JOY! SONGS FROM THE SOFT OF NIGHT speaks tenderly of love gained, musically of loved ones, joyfully of spiritual journeys, and appreciatively of nature observed. I enjoyed reading almost every poem in this timeless collection.

It is impossible for me to choose a favorite poem from COME, JOY!, but every time I read "Cover Me" on page 53, I thoroughly enjoy it. Musical allusions and a melodic rhythm magnify the already intense diction of the poem. It is deep on many levels, and you can't help but let your mind dance with the poem. All manner of images surface in my mind when I read it, and I love the smoothly abrupt way that it coasts to an end, like a dip at the end of a tango.

Author Wynn shows readers throughout the book that she is a skilled poet, experimenting with various styles and techniques and manipulating the English language for optimality. She begins and ends the composition with very fitting haikus while indulging in vivid descriptions on everything in between. Most all of the poems in the Songs of Love section and the Songs of Nature section impressed me, even though every section in this book is more than worth readers' time and close attention.

I love how Wynn makes me think, stirs the embers of my own poetic fire, and makes me want to dig deeper into her poetry. They're full - of life, sounds, emotions, and journeys. I want to analyze them and extract any and every meaning possible. She inspires me to read more, write more, and study more. Simply put, COME, JOY is poetry at its best.

Reviewed by Natasha T.
of The RAWSISTAZ™ Reviewers

In "Come, Joy! Songs from the Soft of the Night" Bridgette Alyce bears her soul in poetic serenades of love, loved ones, nature, and spirit.

The rhythm of the prose and the balance of emotion makes Alyce a true psalmist. The poems are honest and meaningful. "Come, Joy!" is book of inspiration worthy to be on the bookshelves of everyone breathing. She shows that dark times don't have to be filled with fear and turmoil. When the world sleeps through the night you can find solace in the softness of the voice that speaks from within.

Makasha Dorsey, Reviewer
Atlanta, GA

This work is definitely a book you must read over and over. I have several favorites, including, "Meditation", "My Love is a Song", and all the ones describing the author's great love for family and special frienships. The title piece in the final chapter on the spiritual relationship with the Creator, is also a favorite, and Ms. Wynn's earnest invocation of the Spirit throughout is evidence of the connection she desires to make and maintain in sharing the gift she's been blessed with. The poems in the collection minister to the soul in different ways, encouraging and instructing, edifying and uplifting and especially in the soft of my own nights, these poem confirm what the heart has always known. There is joy in the morning. A must read for people who enjoy good literature that speaks to the heart.

Poetry is such a deeply personal genre. It very often opens the hearts, minds, and wounds of a poet allowing their heartbeats, thoughts and blood drain on to the pages. Sometimes the poet is effective in touching individuals; giving words to those who had none to express. Bridgette Alyce is one of those in her book of poetry, Come, Joy!

Ms. Alyce is truly gifted with words. Her ability to paint an abstract print in some of her work stands strong beside the simplicity that she captures in others. The foreword of her book, presented in a poem, proved to be one of my favorites with vivid imagery of renewed sense of self. The only bothersome thing I found in the collection of Come, Joy! was the intensely personal poems that were written for specific people. These selections, (mostly found in the section "Songs of Loved Ones") which speak to an individual or particular situation, forced a wall of disconnection for this reader. While again the beauty of words existed I could only empathize when I would have liked to sympathize with the emotions shared. However, pieces like "Anytime", "2 a. m. (muse)", and "Forgiveness"captured true moments for this reader.

While not all the poetry spoke to me on a personal level, I have a great respect for Ms. Alyce's gift with words and gift to the genre. I look forward to reading more.


Kotanya
APOOO BookClub

I've had this book for about three years, and given it as a gift numerous times to my women friends, because it's the perfect companion in any mood and for any occasion. Marilyn Sewell has collected a broad spectrum of poetry from women, both famous poets and not-so-famous, and collected the entries into categories that make it simple to find a reading for just about any occasion or ceremony. There are wise words here, beautifully presented. Bring this book back into print! Buy it! Have it on hand as an instant resource, along with the collections by Elizabeth Roberts and Elias Amidon ("Earth Prayers," "Life Prayers," "Prayers for a Thousand Years") for all those occasions when you need the exact right perfect reading for an important moment.

This volume is shaped around intuitive explorations of women's spiritual journey: "Owning Self," "The Imperative of Intimacy, "Mothering," "Generations," "Sacredness in the Ordinary," "Images of the Divine." Though my 18-year-old daughter and I have come to perceive ourselves as women very differently, this is a volume we both have come to love. I wouldn't think of sending her off to college without her own copy!

Marilyn Sewell's work on "Cries of the Spirit" was more than worth the price and I have wanted to thank her over and over. A death in the family and I grab her book to find the right words, a marriage and there she is again, providing a womans point of view from a variety of woman that I have found extremely useful. No matter the occassion, a new baby in the family for instance, and flip of the pages and Marilyn found one more woman who said what I want to say beautifully. Not to mention the times I sit alone, staring at the bay and use the poetry for inspiration for myself. "Cries of the Spirit" (and laughter I might add) is a worth while find!

A truly rich and diverse sourcebook of poetry and prose which defines women through our writings. The book is an anthology of more than 300 poems and several of prose pieces by such authors as: Annie Dillard, Denise Levertov, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, Marge Piercy and earlier writers such as Hildegard von Bingen and Margaret Fuller. My favorite writings are from the hearts and minds of writers such as Joyce Carol Oates, "Growing Together," Margaret Atwood, "Five Poems For Grandmothers," Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Mother," and Annie Dillard "Holy the Firm". These writings offer visions of women from the ordinary to the eclectic. Marilyn Sewell, a Unitarian Universalist minister & doctoral candidate, offers an inciteful introduction to this book. I often dip into this book when seeking just the right poem to review or to remind myself how diverse the women's writing movement is. I give this book a huge FIVE stars. And I hope others will be able to enjoy this book as much as I have.

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This is the only anthology of poetry that I have ever read cover to cover without putting it down. This book is comfort, a talk with your best girlfriends, encouragement, enlightenment and thought-provocation all between two covers. I would recommend it for any woman's private library and the libraries of her friends who love good words, moving images and beauty.

...The gist of it was this: Crow is one of the best books of poetry published in the last 50 years...

As an English major in 1973, one of my professors recommended this book of poetry. None of our textbooks contained any of Ted Hughes' work but I jotted his name and this title in the margin of one of my books. After graduating, I spent very little time reading or thinking about poetry. But I recently revived my interest in poetry, specifically after reading several biographies of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I pulled out my old poetry textbooks, found this note and immediately ordered Crow to read it for myself.
What an experience. The work is fantastic - the images, the rhythm, the concept. Amazing, entertaining, and relevant.
I highly recommend this book.

A brilliant work! Honest, straightforward, raw and hardcore poems
that will knock your socks off. This is the only work I recommend reading by Hughes.

I first read this in the late 70's. The harshness, the brutality of it all was a punch in the stomach. An overturning of how i imagined poetry to be. Poetry because of this could belong to me too. It was a similar sensation to the crashing, nihilistic verve of early punk records. It will always remind me that poetry can be as powerful as a 3 minute, 3 chord record, and just as accessible. It did not have any of the cultural baggage of TS Eliot's Wasteland,for example, Which to a provincial boy stuck in a Comprehensive School, belonged to a diferent, musty world .

"Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow" is a collection of poems by Ted Hughes. The copyright page notes that the book was first published in 1972. This is a remarkable book that often reads like some apocryphal sacred text. The book is dominated by its title character, who is the focus of a significant number of the poems. Crow is a multifaceted character with mythic heft: he is a warrior, theologian, trickster, and partner with God in creation. He is both heroic and ridiculous, foolish and wise. He's a compelling and delightful character who ultimately transcends all cultures and historical eras.

The collection as a whole is whimsical, witty, apocalyptic, bold, revelatory, irreverent, visceral, horrific, and playful. At times, Hughes' poetic marriage of the earthy and the mystical reminded me of Walt Whitman. The book also calls to mind traditional Native American animal stories.

Many of the poems in "Crow" touch on the magic and power of words. The natural world is another key recurring motif. Hughes delivers some striking images and some interesting arrangements of words on the page--many poems really engage the eye. Many poems read like religious litanies. Overall, an impressive and enjoyable poetic achievement.

This book cannot be praised enough. Here you have the opportunity to read the early poems of one of the generation's best poets. As has been remarked by previous reviewers, there is an optimism in Kaminsky's poems even amidst tragedy; an unearthly eloquence and musicality to each and every line. It is an unbelievably refreshing tone.

You'll breeze through the book in no time and then realize that you can spend a day on every page. This is a book of transport - to another time, another country, in other bodies and minds - and what you will find there is a new mythos - cities of birds and song and silence all together. And there, on the bench reading a small book filled with beauty in the midst of cobblestones? Why it is you.

from the first encounter to the sixtieth, this book grabs and holds. It is a daring, beautiful debut and the kind of book that makes me invest in books of poetry, hopeful each time that they will yield the percentage of brilliance and beauty that this book does. Kaminsky reminds me why we write and why we read.

I highly recommend Ilya Kaminsky's first book. It is full of small beautiful lyric moments that rise across history. His love poems are simply beautiful. I can't agree more with those reviewers too who mention Kaminsky's style of reading. The poet Joe Weil once wrote "poetry has forgotten how to praise/ forgotten how to pray." Ilya Kaminsky has not forgotten either.

This is the best book of poetry I've read in years. I read it again and again.
I couldn't recommend it more.

John FitzGerald, author of Spring Water

I had the pleasure of hearing Ilya Kaminsky read his poetry from Dancing in Odessa the other day at my college. He came into the room and seemed a bit shy at first. Uncertain as to "what to do" he began to read from his book. A powerful and lyrical voice filled the room and everyone was glued to her/his seat listening. He not only writes wonderful, thought-provoking and dazzling poems but he reads with an energy unsurpassed. He uses his voice in incredible ways, incredible ranges and he employs his whole body in the experience. One gets the sense she is witness to something profound and passionate, spellbinding. Kaminsky's voice is strange, beautiful and musical.

Life as art ... there is a special gift in the ability to share one's life as art, to issue a challenge to each beholder, to trigger a deeper reaching within and without, to one's coming away changed. The amazingly insightful cover and the signpost of a title dare us to pass through this doorway, to accept the challenge to go beyond and experience what these travelers before us offer to share. Will any two come away with the same experience? I don't think so. For me this journey was worth the beauty, love, and mystery revealed along side the pain of Dark Card. Without the presence of light, we would not even see this silhouette. I am thankful that there are artists and poets who can transcend the dark to share their lives by shining light.

In Dark Card, Rebecca Foust gives the reader a lesson in courage -- the courage of a mother raising a child with a disability, the courage to face the reality this forces upon her, the courage to probe the feelings deep within, and the courage to put those feelings into unforgettable words. This is the open heart of a mother, with all the pain and joy exposed. Read it with respect. It will move you.

Raw and beautiful, this collection captures the complexities of motherhood in a way few writers ever have. There isn't a mother alive who -- if she is honest -- won't recognize herself on these pages. The cover art, with its dark haunting outline, makes clear that the child inside this book is not just Foust's. He belongs to all of us.

Rebecca Foust's has written a stirring book of poetry describing the mixed blessings of raising a son with Aspergers Syndrome. Dark Card is a must read for all families dealing with Autistic Spectrum Disorders, and for those who seek a better understanding of what it is like to live with them.

Dark Card is a beautifully crafted and insightful book. It carries the reader to the deepest waters of the joys, fears and sorrows of motherhood. Rebecca Foust's poems touch the anquish of raising a son with Asperger's Syndrome with exquisite understanding. At the same time, she has written a collection of poems which resonate with all who have loved a child. One does not have to parent a special needs child to appreciate the beauty of these poems. They touch our loves, our fears, our hopes, our deepest yearnings. These poems herald the arrival in the world of poetry of a wise and unique voice.

One of the most famous - and infamous - letters in all of literature, De Profundis is a strange little piece of work: either much more than it appears on the surface, or much less. It is something I think everyone should read, if only for its insight into the human character, particularly that of one under great personal suffering. Wilde wrote this extraordinarily long letter from prison to Lord Alfred Douglas, his friend, lover, and the man who - by all accounts - was the reason Wilde was in jail in the first place. Despite repeated assertions in the first few pages alone to the contrary, Wilde seems reluctant to blame himself. He clearly blames Douglas to the hilt, and harbors a certain bitter resentment towards him. And yet... he clearly still hold much dear affection toward - and even loves - Douglas. He still seems to be asking for forgiveness - despite the fact that, by all accounts hardly excluding his own, he was the man wronged. It is quite clear from reading this letter that, desite the view history holds of him, Wilde was clearly a man of very high moral character. Certainly, one would not put Wilde atop a pedastal as the zenith of ethics - he himself says that morals contain "absolutely nothing" for him, and clearly admits - and is proud of - his having lived the high life to the hilt during his youth - but Wilde was a man of principles, and he stuck to those principles to the tragic, bitter end. Perhaps you might say he carried them too far. One gets the sense in reading this letter - or a biography of Wilde - that, not only could he have stopped his immiment imprisonment, but could have severed his ties with Douglas completely - had he wanted to. Apparently, he had his own utterly compelling reasons for not doing so. Whatever the case, Oscar Wilde is one of the most fundamentally and perpetually interesting characters in the whole of history. A self-described man of paradoxes - Wilde was subsequently the true essence of his time, while also being far ahead of his time - De Profundis makes for required reading by one of the most endlessly fascinating individuals you'll ever read about, and also provides a startling - indeed, perhaps too much so - insight into human nature.

De Profundis, though long for a letter, is not a long work in the conventional sense. Consequently, as many editions of Wilde's collected works are available, buying this on its own may be deemed questionable. I highly reccommend purchasing a Collected Works of Oscar if you have not done so already - it's well worth the price - but, should you desire to have more compact editions of specific works, an edition such as this will be privy to your needs.

This is a very moving account of a heartbroken man who was betrayed by a person he loved dearly. The pain, the trauma, the love, the anger, the frustration is evident in every single well-written sentence. This book is not only a window into the mind of one of the best British writers of the late 19th century. It is also a timeless lesson on what can happen when one falls in love with someone who doesn't truly appreciate what they have before them. Of course there are other lessons to be learned in this book but rather than point them out here, I'd much prefer you pick up a copy of "De Profundis" as soon as you can.

Not actually a "letter," though it had to be originally presented as such for him to be allowed to write it while in prison, *De Profundis* is Wilde's masterpiece--one has to have really lived and really, really suffered to have written it and it's amazing that he achieved it.

I only very recently read it--and "got" it. It rings true to me, and is very, very moving and "profound." It ain't summer beach reading.

Wilde is still and will probably always be best known as a "Personality"--that and the author of a couple of decent period plays, a short novel, a few stories, and lots of forgettable poems and such. But THIS--THIS is IT.

He really WAS a great writer, it turns out, after all.

So many people concentrate on De Profundis' accusations cast towards Alfred Douglas. Yes, it's true that the letter was written to him and that Wilde is ruthless in letting Douglas know exactly what he thinks of him but that's not why De Profundis is a great piece of work. It is great for three reasons. Number one - It contains the best account of the life of Christ. Christ as the romantic artist is the only account that has moved me to tears and the only account I can personally embrace. Number two - it is chock full of the Oscar Wilde voice and wit and as a result it reverbates as a true work of art and number three - It is ultimately a work that celebrates the things in life worth feeling - failure, love, injustice, strength and forgiveness.

Don't waste your time with the accusations towards Douglas. He is unimportant. Oscar Wilde is what's important and De Profundis is Oscar Wilde bare.

Ah, me...one doesn't know which to be more irritated
and exasperated with: whether it be Walt Whitman doing
his dissembling shuck-and-shuffle about the children
he had sired (to throw off a probing, serious John
Addington Symonds) -- or Oscar, in this "j'accuse," which
he should have spoken while looking in a mirror, rather
than writing it on paper to Lord Alfred.
This is without doubt a fascinating, horrifying,
and yet in places humorous, "piece de Miserere mei"
(to combine a bit of French with Latin).
If one chooses to believe Oscar, his only fault
was weakness in "giving in" to Lord Alfred. Oh,
come now. Blinded by Eros, reason flies out the
door...if ever reason was in control. There are
some sentences which are devastatingly revealing,
but Oscar doesn't seem to see it. "The trivial in
thought and action is charming. I had made it
the keystone of a very brilliant philosophy expressed
in plays and paradoxes." Ye gods, and little fishes!

And this man dared to call himself a "Classicist?!"
Yikes!!!
The best exercise for the reader is to just take
many of the things which Oscar accuses Lord Alfred
of, and turn them toward the self-blind, self-
justifying Oscar, to see their devastating hitting
of the mark. Never having met the young man, but
only having the "benefit" of hearsay (mostly from
Oscar's literary defenders) Lord Alfred seems to have
been calculating, temperamental (using anger to get
his way), manipulative, etc., etc., etc. The best
description of him may be Wilde's referring to him
with the lines from Aeschylus' play AGAMEMNON,
about the lion cub being raised in a house and
being let loose to wreak havoc and ruin.
But Oscar bears his share of blame -- more than just
that of the "sin" of weakness which he constantly falls
back upon in his own justification. Even in the midst
of what purports to be some sort of penitent cry from
the depths of hell...Oscar still is ever the poseur:
"And I remember that afternoon, as I was in the railway
carriage whirling up to Paris, thinking what an impossible,
terrible, utterly wrong state my life had got into, when
I, a man of world-wide reputation, was actually forced
to run away from England, in order to try and get rid
of a friendship that was entirely destructive of everything
fine in me either from the intellectual or ethical point
of view...." Er, when was the last time that the
"everything fine" had last seen the light of day?
Was Oscar an "Artist," as he consistently claims?
Was he the wronged, harmed Artist? Perhaps only the
reader can decide that for himself. Without doubt
he was witty, acerbic, funny, cute, clever, perhaps
even charming (to some -- sort of like a Pillsbury
Dough Boy with flair and a clever tongue), perhaps
stylish (in a frumpy, velveteen sort of way). Was
he wronged by a predatory clinger and manipulator,
and a hypocritical social prudery and class power
play (Oscar is no Socrates--that's for sure!)? He
hardly seems worthy, in some ways, of being a poster-boy
for Gay Pride parades. More likely, he is a better
warning poster boy for the self-excusing, and never
take-responsibility-for-your-own-actions crowd.
But this is an incredible piece to read and think
about. There is some of it that is mordantly hilarious.