By Margaret Atwood
A gorgeous lyrical success and Atwood's first choice of new poems in over a decade.
The Door is Margaret Atwood's first ebook of poetry because the award-winning Morning within the Burned House (1995). Its fifty lucid but pressing poems variety in tone from lyric to ironic to meditative to prophetic, and in topic from the non-public to the political, considered in its broadest feel. They examine the mysterious writing of poetry itself, in addition to the passage of time and our shared feel of mortality. the gathering starts off with poems that ponder the previous and ends with harbingers of items to come.
Brave and compassionate, The Door interrogates the certainties that we construct our lives on.
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Extra resources for The Door
Consider they're paid. ) They can’t get off the floor, them and their muddy feathers. in the event that they fly, it’s downwards, into the damp gray earth. leave, we are saying – and take your uninteresting disappointment. You’re no longer sought after right here. You’ve forgotten the right way to let us know how chic we're. How love is the reply: we continuously cherished that one. You’ve forgotten tips to kiss up. You’re now not clever any further. You’ve misplaced your splendour. however the poets cling on. They’re not anything if no longer tenacious. They can’t sing, they can’t fly. they just hop and croak and bash themselves opposed to the air as though in cages, and inform the strange drained comic story. while requested approximately it, they are saying they communicate what they need to. Cripes, they’re pretentious. They be aware of anything, although. They do recognize whatever. whatever they’re whispering, whatever we can’t rather listen. Is it approximately intercourse? Is it approximately dirt? Is it approximately worry? POETRY interpreting staring at the poet – the well known poet – ransacking his innards, laying out his complete inventory of damaging suggestions and shamefaced lusts, his stale hatreds, his vulnerable yet shrill pursuits, you don’t be aware of no matter if to be scornful or thankful: he’s doing our confessions for us. He’s encased in a smooth pullover, defiantly no longer black, yet faded yellow like a cream sorbet, the color you purchase for little toddlers if you happen to don’t desire to glance sexist, and his face with its nervous brow floats opposed to the darkish level history, the contains a little vague just like the solar via mist, and also you know the way this face was once, as soon as, while he was once an nervous little boy balanced on tiptoe, staring into the reflect and asking, Why can’t I be stable? and later, Are those my genuine mom and dad? and later nonetheless, Why does love damage loads? or even later, Who reasons wars? you must take him on your fingers and inform him a number of lies. basic fogeys don’t ask these issues, you could say. Let’s have intercourse as a substitute. you recognize that girls stupider than you have proposed this therapy for all ills of the brain and spirit. You’ve vowed by no means to do this, so you’re creating a enormous exception right here. yet he may merely answer, I’ve advised you approximately my scabs and compulsions, my grubby torments, my loss of dignity – I’d simply get you soiled. Why hassle with me? At which you’d solution: nobody made you do that, this fooling with syllables, this rolling bare in thistles and sticking your tongue onto nails. you've gotten been a bricklayer. you've gotten been a dentist. Hard-shelled. Impervious. yet that’s lifeless. plenty of bricklayers have blown their heads off with shotguns out of clean melancholy. With dentists the rate’s better. perhaps it’s rather than, this poetry. probably the string of phrases that’s popping out of him now like a peeled vein is all that’s protecting him tethered to a couple sq. ft of this earth. so that you keep it up gazing, as he flays himself in an ecstasy of self-reproach; he’s all the way down to his lingerie now, the hair blouse, the chains – N. B. , those are metaphors – and also you see that when all there’s a chilly craft to it, as with beadwork or gutting a mackerel.
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