Reviews for The prodigal

The average rating for The prodigal based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2013-11-14 00:00:00 Wendy Cockrell Derek Walcott, the Nobel laureate born in St. Lucia, is Trinidad and Tobago's favorite son when it comes to plays and poetry. He spent much of his life here, establishing a theater troupe back in the '70s. I just saw his latest, Oh Starry, Starry Night, a play that examines Vincent Van Gogh's relationship with his brother, Theo, an art dealer, and Paul Guaguin. To my surprise and delight, Derek Walcott sat in the audience, practically next to me, and although he suffered a stroke back in March, he appeared to enjoy the mounting of his play. Mike has Derek Walcott's granddaughter in one of his classes, so through her I was able to get this book of poetry autographed. With so many books to pick from, I chose Prodigal: A Poem because I love the artwork on the cover. Derek Walcott is also a painter. I loved the poems in this book that chronicle his journeys of 10 years ago in Europe, Mexico, and Colombia. As a writer I find inspiration in poetry. If you want to be uplifted then I recommend this book.

Review # 2 was written on 2015-01-20 00:00:00 Jolie Schoffelen I understand why this is called The Prodigal and the poetry is laced with a Christian lexicon which gives credence to the title, but midway through I could not help thinking Landscape would have been a better title (I can't help naming/renaming things forgive me) as this gorgeous journey of remembering seems less about folly and atonement as it is about capturing the beauty and emotional sweep of the various landscapes it memorializes. It is not only the experience of landscape as a noun but landscape as a verb-Walcott's lyrical reconstruction of the lands he leads us through. It is lush delicious language. The author and I have overlapping experiences of New York, Italy and the Caribbean so his journey is one I can appreciate personally as well as aesthetically. His verse has a sharp and unsentimental eye that is: tender, sensuous, and softly lit in places with humour. It filled me with wanderlust (an always danger). This is medicinal work, when the ugliness of the world and your own mind get you down, the beauty of his world will sustain you. the peaches of summer are bouncing on the grids of the Milanese sidewalks in halters cut close to the coccyx. I look and no longer sigh for the impossible