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Lying in a field, hope you find me pretty soon. Grass blade. Crow eye.

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Crushed berry. Worm in the dirt. In science we had a life-sized skeleton. It hung in the classroom all year long. It hung by the blackboard, all alone. Sacrum, parietal, metacarpal bone. I failed the test, got too many answers wrong. Once I asked my mother if God was all over. I asked if He saw us. Then she kissed my face; then she kissed my hair. Then he tore my pajamas and my legs were bare. In fact long-term love with a man seems ever-elusive.

View all 16 comments. Mar 05, Julie Ehlers rated it it was amazing Shelves: poetry. It was still totally excellent and deserves the same five stars as those collections received from me.

  • What is this Thing Called Love - Kim Addonizio - كتب Google?
  • What Is This Thing Called Love.

Favorite poem: "Bugdom. View all 6 comments. Jun 29, David Schaafsma rated it it was amazing Shelves: poetry. The review should probably just end there, per my discussion with Roger. In oher words, that poem is all you need to put the book on your TBR list. Asimov probably found this thesis hilarious. I think Addonizio has in mind in this book the work of poet Sharon Olds, who wrote with similar confessional boldness about sex and death.

One poem actually references Olds.

Both write about the body in sexual heat, the aging body, death. At all. Narrative, reflective poetry, with pizazz, with edge, with passion, honesty, humor, sadness, keen observation.

I like it that she takes on interesting formal challenges, including a paradelle sort of like a parody of a villanelle , from Billy Collins, who made up the form. And I was introduced to a sonnenizio. She gives you models for you to work from, hooks you can build on yourself to write poetry "in the manner of," or topics you know you have something to write about.

The back of my neck feels them, my hair swept aside to expose the nape, and my breasts tingle the way they did when my milk came in after the birth, when I was swollen, and sleepless, and my daughter fed and fed until I pried her from me and laid her in her crib. Even the chaste kisses that brushed my check, the fatherly ones on my forehead, I feel them rising up from underneath the skin of the past, a delicate, roseate rash; and the ravishing ones, God, I think of them and the filaments in my brain start buzzing crazily and flare out.

View 2 comments. Shelves: the-bleach-can-stay-on-the-shelf.

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What is this thing called poetry? As a recovering poet, I've devoted no small amount of thought to this subject. The best answer I can give you is tinfoil in the microwave. That's poetry. Unfortunately, most poetry reads more like saran wrap in the refrigerator. Which is why it was such a pleasure to happen upon this collection. While it doesn't quite approach the level of a full-blown kitchen disaster, certainly there are sparks.

And it's always nice to find a soul as morbid as I am see What is this thing called poetry? And it's always nice to find a soul as morbid as I am see "Year-Old Lover;" also, there's an entire section devoted to the D-word--that's Death. As someone who used to write impassioned poems to Azrael, I appreciate this. Also, check out the poem that references Sharon Olds in the title. Soooo good said in a Teen Girl Squad voice! While this book didn't quite shake my notion of poetry as anything other than a doomed, if pretty, exercise in futility, it did serve as a reminder of what I saw in the genre.

It was rather like finding a sweater you used to wear all the time in a pile of castoff clothes. You might not go there again, but you look back fondly on what was. Oct 30, Hasan Makhzoum rated it really liked it. Addonizio is like the feminine equivalent of Bukowski. This analogy came up to my mind even before I fell on the title of her autobiographical pieces in Bukowski In A Sundress. Actually, she has once defined herself as "Emily Dickinson with a strap-on" and that she got drunk at poetry conferences.

With the frequent employment of bold expressions and smutty imagery in her poems, we get the impression that Addonizio is Addonizio is like the feminine equivalent of Bukowski. With the frequent employment of bold expressions and smutty imagery in her poems, we get the impression that Addonizio is vicious, brash, depressive, melancholic, cynical, upfront at times, but never pretentious..

In my journey of reading poetic texts and believe me I have read a lot, mostly in Arabic though I have come to the conviction that the honesty, the integrity and the 'authenticity' of the author are mirrored in his texts, and are as important as his writing skills that's why I hate every spurious moralistic sentence ever written by Coelho and al. Addonizio is one of those passionate and idiosyncratic poets who write so they won't die. LOL This hilarious educational methodology reminded me of my father when, one day, he was teaching grammar to my little brother who was having a hard time to learn at school how to conjugate a verb in the 'Muthanna' form in Arabic grammar..

This thing called, LOVE.... poem

Far from being murky and abstract, her poems are accessible for the simplicity and the directness of her language.. So accessible that I rarely had to open the dictionary, and that is rare. Her extrovert personality is mirrored in her poems that reveal, with unflinching sincerity and an acerbic wit, her strengths and weaknesses, her deceptions, her painful memories, unfulfilled desires.. Like the intimate photographs of Nan Goldin Btw I was lucky to attend her huge exhibition in Paris in after winning her well deserved prestigious international prize , Addonizio incorporates her personal experiences into the poems: the loss of her friends, her relationships, her affection to her daughter, the single parenting, the sickness of her mother..

What Is This Thing Called Love, Poems by Kim Addonizio | | Booktopia

The poems tackle a raw of issues and deals with themes we encounter in the daily life; love, divorce, death, solitude, parenthood.. The 'I' implies the egocentrism of the poet, but at no point Addonizio appears to be self-centered. Even when drowned in her emotions and observations, she identifies herself with the reader in a way say, when employing the second person narrative that allows her personal truths to resonate in his experience. The ugly poppies. In Afghanistan they are again made beautiful by a mysterious blight. Ugly are the arriving American soldiers, newly shorn and checking their email, but beautiful when face-up in the road or their parts scattered like bullet- or sprinkler-spray or stellar remains.

Nothing is so beautiful as a poem except maybe a nightingale, thinks the poet writing about death, sinking Lethe-wards. Lovely river in which the names are carefully entered.

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In this quadrant are the rivers of grief and fire. Grid north. Black azimuth. Down rivers of Fuck yous and orchids steer lit hearts in little boats gamely making their way, spinning and flaming, flaming and spiraling, always down-- down, the most beautiful of the directions. The thoughts and feelings Addonizio openly shares in her poems seems autobiographical and intimate.