Amazon.com Review
An Octave Above Thunder finds poet and critic Carol Muske looking back on 20 fruitful years of writing. Muske is the author of five previously published books of poetry, including
Red Trousseau and
Skylight, as well as 1997's well-received collection of essays
Women and Poetry: Truth, Autobiography and the Shape of the Self. In
Women and Poetry, Muske uses her own poetry to trace the evolution of her ideas about women, poetry, and the self; in this collection of both new and older work, she mines her past for the poems themselves. The result is a triumph, a lyrical and lucid contemplation of the personal, the political, and the public spaces where these sometimes converge. In "The Invention of Cuisine," Muske paints a "still life of our meals," a portrait of the historical moment in which "the pure impulse to eat" becomes the drive to
create: "this little moment / before the woman redeems / the sprouted seeds at her feet / and gathers the olives falling from the trees/ for her recipes. / Imagine..." It's a small but vivid portrait of the transformative power of imagination and art--much like
An Octave Above Thunder itself.
From Library Journal
In the polite, cocktail-party din of much American poetry at the end of the century, it could be easy to miss Muske. Like the work of many (some would say too many) accomplished contemporaries, hers is intelligent, observant, introspective, urbanely wry, and attentive to craft. This collection of ten new poems plus selections from her previous five books?including the well-received Red Trousseau (LJ 2/1/93)?reveals an expanding poetic consciousness, from 1970s Surrealism Lite ("I sit blowing ghosts into my wrists"), through feminism and political awareness ("Now we/ can't afford to be anonymous."), to self-analysis and ambitious meditation ("An Octave Above Thunder"). Muske often starts with an experience in the physical world, working inward to the psyche, the abstract dream state from which startling awareness or revelation might be expected to emerge, but through "page after page/ of Pictures in the Mind" the poems somehow escape a final solidity ("The sky fills with invisible comets."), despite their sometimes trenchant tone and carefully wrought gravity. For larger poetry collections?Fred Muratori, Cornell Univ. Lib., Ithaca, N.Y.
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