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Title: Three Poems
Penguin Publishing Group
Item Number: 9780140585858
Number: 1
Product Description: Three Poems
Universal Product Code (UPC): 9780140585858
WonderClub Stock Keeping Unit (WSKU): 9780140585858
Rating: 4.5/5 based on 2 Reviews
Image Location: https://wonderclub.com/images/covers/58/58/9780140585858.jpg
Weight: 0.200 kg (0.44 lbs)
Width: 0.000 cm (0.00 inches)
Heigh : 0.000 cm (0.00 inches)
Depth: 0.000 cm (0.00 inches)
Date Added: August 25, 2020, Added By: Ross
Date Last Edited: August 25, 2020, Edited By: Ross
Price | Condition | Delivery | Seller | Action |
$99.99 | Digital |
| WonderClub (9296 total ratings) |
Jesse Bear
reviewed Three Poems on November 02, 2018"I thought that if I could put it all down, that would be one way. And next the thought came to me that to leave all out would be another, and truer way."
~
"As if I were only a flower after all and not the map of the country in which it grows. There is more to be said about this, I guess, but it does not seem to alter anything that I am the spectator, you what is apprehended, and as such we both have our own satisfying reality, even each to the other, though in the end it falls apart, falls to the ground and sinks in."
~
Well this was a real journey. First off, thanks to Ethan for giving me the book (the second Ashbery book he gave me; what a guy! He's never gonna read this because he's not on goodreads but he's a cool dude even if we don't talk much anymore. I hope he's happy out there. He should be-he's got three cats! It's got a delightful meatball recipe in it that I haven't even tried yet). Secondly, this is my second Ashbery and it's not as good as Self-Portrait in a Converse Mirror (my review of which can be found here: ), although I'm not sure what could be.
I wasn't expecting this to be quite as meta as it was, but I'm not sure why I shouldn't have known better. It says it right there on the back. Don't let me discourage you by using the word meta however, it's much more than an exercise in navel-gazing or genre-parody. The first poem tackles meaning, the second existence and carrying on, and the third a sort of digestif that is both a combination of the two and not ("The New Spirit", "The System", and "The Recital"). I liked the first far more than the other two. I struggled with the second, disagreeing with even more than the first, but grasped at something in the end, and the third seemed to float away from me, the last butterfly I saw escaping from my once full net.
I loved Ashbery's use of metaphor and simile. It's something I loved about his poems in Self-Portrait and I would pounce upon one each time I saw one in these poems. While his poems in Self-Portrait were definitely prosey, these poems are rightfully called prose-poems in style. On the one hand I loved that about them, and on the other I wished I were reading some of his poetic works so I could see those metaphors really shine. Oh well. I loved the metaphors anyway. I also loved the prosaic quality of these poems. While I don't think this is a masterpiece, I do think it is some masterful work and I have selfishly chosen not to give this book 5 stars because I didn't perfectly enjoy it, not because it wasn't perfectly masterful (the hidden premise of course being that I would have perfectly enjoyed it, if it had been perfectly masterful-teehee [that's an enthymeme for those of you following along]). Another thing I loved is his diction. Ashbery knows words like a virtuoso. He uses etiolated like he eats it for breakfast-this in particular though is also a mark of his utilization of words from the plant world. I admire Ashbery so much for being a wordsmith.
So what didn't I enjoy about the book? Well there were some things that I didn't agree with. Although, quite reasonably, I think that's a good thing. These poems are heady and dense, rushing headlong beyond nebulous, condensing into droplets less and less rarefied, past the point of pithiness into weighty and grave-serious, somber, dark, and practical. The darkness is not the mood resembling sadness but that moment before things become clear, what exists before the light of each day-the underside of your upturned palm. I don't know that I can contain that much awareness or keep up with the speed of Ashbery's blinding perception. Maybe I could have tried harder, but I'd say I tried pretty hard and got what I wanted to out of it. What I disagreed with, I didn't disagree with out of ignorance but because I did understand, not that I understood everything.
"Anders," you say, "You're just spewing a bunch of vague poetic bullshit at me and not telling me what these poems are actually about. TELL ME." Haha, you know I can't do that! Ashbery has already infected me; it's too late. But I would return you to the main points: meaning, existence, and the combination of both and neither. Surely you can see how there can be no exhaustive explanation for this so essentially human problem presented to us (every day, I might add) and I think that's what Ashbery tries to convey to us-by blinding us with his insight--and by cloud-gathering Zeus's coruscating bolts is he refulgent. I've read some vague poems, poems that revel in ambiguity, these are something else. There is a very real pragmatism to them that I haven't seen communicated quite in this way. Yet another reason for extolling our man here as masterful.
I could explicate each paragraph, line by line, and that might provide a coherent and thorough explanation for what's going on, but I'm not a grad student writing a thesis on Ashbery; I'm just some guy who's read too much and yet not enough poetry who happens to (usually!) know what he likes. And this-yes-I like it. The dynamism of these poems is relentless, ceaselessly relentless like clenched fists yet without fury or indignation. This is the ferocity of intent, a beam of pure focus and insight. There's something in that that I respect even as it outpaces me. And it's not the challenge of deciphering like some things can be. These are not riddles in the same way that other poems of his have been. These are poems of illimitable design. A design that that knows choice as an old friend, both repudiating it and acknowledging its power.
I think the other thing that makes me eschew a 5 star is the reread potential. I guessed that these poems would be best read quickly together and after reading them I almost think that's necessary. I picked out a few phrases and metaphors I liked, but they are so imbricated in their context that they take on whole new meanings outside of it, by strength of their art. It's hard to quote the poem without reading the whole thing to you. It's hard to reference a paragraph without saying now wait you have to read this one and this other one to grasp what he's throwing at you. In that way the work has forged it's own space in reality that prevents me from tearing it into digestible pieces or salient fragments-its charm and its curse.
So who would I recommend this to? Well if you like my middling parody of his style or any of the ideas I've talked about and you want to try out some very dense prose poems yeah give it a shot, but if you're new to Ashbery I would much much much sooner recommend Self-Portrait or many of the other collections of poetry that I haven't even read that, depending on the year published, are doing very different--although certainly more accessible and enjoyable--things. And if you have read Ashbery before then you probably know better than me what you're doing!
This collection is tough but rewarding. And in the end it might be both satisfying and dissatisfying, enlightening and mystifying-but surely it is exquisite.
*
"If by chance you should become diverted or distracted for a moment from awareness of your imprisonment by some pleasant or interesting occurrence, there is always the shape of the individual day to remind you."
*
"Force and mastery are required, they are ready in fact, but to use them deeply without excuses is a way of intermittent life, and the point was that the moments of awareness have to be continuous if they are to exist at all. Thus the sadness as I look out over all this and realize that I can never have any of it, even though I have it all as I in fact do. To be living, in each other, the perfect life but without happiness."
*
"There must be nothing resembling nostalgia for a past which in any case never existed. It is like standing up because you've been sitting all day and are tired of it."
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