Reviews for The Ways We Touch

The average rating for The Ways We Touch based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2014-06-17 00:00:00 Rory Mullett I read this because I had to read an Arkansas author for the summer reading program at my library, and this was the shortest book I could find! I thoroughly enjoyed a few of the poems, disagreed with some of them, and didn't understand others. It only took me about 45 minutes to read the whole book though, so it wasn't really a waste of time.

Review # 2 was written on 2009-06-28 00:00:00 Mike Brown 9.0/10 I have run the emotions of life through Robert Lowell -- not a mean feat, in a few weeks. No wonder I'm exhausted. And elevated. Depressed. And inspired. Who is Robert Lowell? And how much time do you have? Thoughts that occurred to me, in reading this collection: Prophetic. Pessimistic. Awe-Inspiring. Eccentric. Fun. And funny. Affectionate. Intimate. Gossipy. Private. Confessional. Self-centered. Self-effacing. Devoted. Formidable. And, if read all in one go, much as I have done, overwhelming. Overwhelming in his scope, capacity, and understanding. I did not know, until after reading this collection, that Robert Lowell suffered from bipolar disorder, which suddenly made clear all the emotions I had been experiencing. To be in such a mind! ... for a day, for a week, was an electrifying and emotional privilege; to have to live in it, for the better part of his life would have been exhausting; depleting. This is poetry in which my mind finds a home. READING MYSELF Like thousands, I took pride and more than just, struck matches that brought my blood to a boil; I memorized the tricks to set the river on fire ' Somehow never wrote something to go back to. Can I suppose I am finished with wax flowers And have earned my grass on the minor slopes of Parnassus… No honeycomb is built without a bee adding circle to circle, cell to cell, the wax and honey of a mausoleum ' this round dome proves its maker is alive; the corpse of the insect lives embalmed in honey, prays that its perishable work lives long enough for the sweet-tooth bear to desecrate ' this open book … my coffin.