Diving into the Wreck: Poems, 1971-72 Book

Wow.

That's all. WOW.

I was thinking of writing some brilliant review to follow up the madness of inspiration banging around in my head after a day of reading. But, what can I say except that everyone should read this! I found the small amount of ratings of this book to be somewhat shocking considering how powerful it is. There were moments of tingly-goodness on almost every page. Only a few poems fell short for me, but that was only because of the other poems that towered over them. The ones that I found to be just okay, I'm sure would impress me just as much on their own.

The opening line of this book declares itself outright, "Out in this desert we are testing bombs". It sets the intensity that pulses throughout every poem. I annoyed the hell out of my friend today by constantly interrupting with select readings.

"Hey Stephen, do you want-
Shhh! listen to this!
'They were showing / in a glass case, the Man Without A Country. / We held up our passports in his face, we wept for him."

My friend quite succinctly summed up the strongest aspect of the writing, it has an abrupt emotionality. It's true that some poetry can leave you feeling cold. Often meaning is obfuscated by extended metaphors, symbols and motifs. But Rich uses metaphors like atom bombs. You absolutely believe that she lived and suffered for her writing. I found this passage to be particularly powerful from the brilliantly-titled poem "The Phenomenology of Anger":

"I suddenly see the world
as no longer viable:
you are out there burning the crops
with some new sublimate
This morning you left the bed
we still share
and went out to spread impotence
upon the world

I hate you.
I hate the mask you wear, your eyes
assuming a depth
they do not possess, drawing me
into the grotto of your skull
the landscape of bone
I hate your words
they make me think of fake
revolutionary bills
crisp imitation parchment
they sell at battlefields.

Last night, in this room, weeping
I asked you: what are you feeling?
do you feel anything?
Now in the torsion of your body
as you defoliate the fields we lived from
I have your answer."

My only criticism stems somewhat from my praise. Since the work is so powerful and dramatic, it may at times lose you. I sometimes wondered, is it really that bad? Much of the book is a complete condemnation of domesticity. But I kept thinking that it isn't that black and white. Rich expresses the confines of prescribed roles are such that they squelch the individual. The confines which she wishes to break from are literally causing an internal death, as many of the housewives at the time of her writing were experiencing. But, I couldn't help feel, as other feminists have expressed, there is a certain comfort within the home. There is a comfort within being a part of that passive, assigned role. Rich treats the home like a cancer. I think the subject to be a bit more complicated than that.

Despite this, it was never enough to shut me out of her writing completely. The power of her writing more than earns her the right to voice these terrors that were eating away at her. I came to understand and respect her plight through this book of poetry.