Customer Reviews

Rhapsody in Plain Yellow: Poems

5 star:		(2)
4 star:		(2)
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2 star:		(1)
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Summoning imagery from contemporary life in southern California as well as from ancient China, and places in between, including words and symbols from both languages, Marilyn Chin creates a poetic narrative that is both personal and political. Dwelling on themes of race, history, love and nature, these poems examine the transitory moments of our fragile existence. In "Cauldron," Chin asks: "What is destiny, but an angry wind-plagues and salvages, / death knocking on your neighbor's door, and you dare look out / your window, relieved that you were spared for another hour" (37). In the moments of that hour, with the pages of this book, Chin offers a risky, dynamic collection of poetry, gifts of her particular vision and sensitivity.

I've been a fan of Marilyn Chin's poetry for years. She never fails to surprise me with her intelligence, brilliance, craft and daring. She can write everything: blues poems, ballads, long meditations, hymns, political anthems...There's a big beautiful banquet in this book. And, she's funny as hell, but while you're laughing, you realize that the joke is on you, or that she is able to sneak in a life lesson. Not enough room here for all the praise she deserves. Read all her books; you'll be a fan forever.

Marilyn Chin's "Rhapsody in Plain Yellow" is a challenging collection that rewards the time and attention it demands. The poems are wide-ranging in their forms and allusions, moving rapidly from ancient China to modern America, from remote history to deeply personal. Her imagery startles you, her word-choice sometimes unsettles you, her humour engages you, her humanity touches you. This is a marvelous collection of poems that I will definitely re-visit.

This is the last book I had to read by a single author on the list of poetry books recommended by HYPHEN magazine in their December 2011 issue. I was certainly looking forward to the experience, noting Chin's numerous honors and accolades. I've read enough poetry to know what I like, and written a fair amount also, some of which is in Indivisible: An Anthology of Contemporary South Asian American Poetry, probably the best Asian American poetry collection out there, and in my much more modest collection, a fox peeks out: poems.

I initially got into the book, and liked Chin's phrasings, etc. But once again, I've found another book of poetry that failed to hold my interest past the first 1/3rd. See all my reviews for other examples of similarly lauded books that just didn't do it for me. There's room for divergent opinion, but I really love poetry. I would hope that poetry can be relevant in our times - certainly Merwin, Oliver and others make it so.

But not this book. Hyphen comments "Drawing richly from ancient Asian references, Chin ponders identity, heritage and history through varied rhythmical and storytelling modes. By turns seething, mournful and pensive, the poems nonetheless anticipate transformation: 'Someday our pods and pupae shall turn in the earth / And burgeon into our motherlode's bold beauty." Now, that line I liked, and there were many others - but overall, I wasn't charmed by the sing-song, lilty quality of this work. Moreover, she throws in shock-bombs - the odd private part which will be unnamed because of Amazon's auto-censors - which didn't add anything for me.

Such as:
"Bosnia, a headless wound
Los Angeles, a blistering glans
Rwanda, a whither of blood
The killing floor glistens..
We sit alone with our porridge
Whose name is Budget Gourmet
We've missed our chance in love
O brief and Fallen Orchid"

OK- if you're going to do the first four lines - are you going to push further with your meaning? Or are you simply ornamenting? Well, maybe the last lines of "Horseyear" make it into sense:
"Our hair will grow after death
Our poetry, moss-eaten
Never will we feel fulfilled
Never to reclaim our name."

Indeed. I suppose.

I know the author is playing with all kinds of literary and musical devices - but it's all got to work in the reader's head - and it didn't, in this reader's.

Reading a quiver of poems, each shot from the literary heart or hip of Asian America, all arrows anointed from afar; yet I found precious few hit the mark. I'll draw my own bow.

Unfortunately when I received the book I opened it and the pages fell out. I notified the seller and they said they order them from the publisher and sometimes they aren't up to their own standards. They offered to send a new book at no charge.