From Publishers Weekly
Departing little from such well-titled volumes as The Common and The Pose of Happiness, this fourth collection contains well-crafted poems about Jewish-American middle-class midlife and strife, thoughtful ekphrases, and nostalgic goings-over of origins and relationships: "Once, when I was a child,/ my mother lied to me. Maybe that day/ I was too demanding, more likely I needed/ consolation my schoolmates so lucky,/ so confident,/ so gentile." Such concerns carry over into the poet's literary life (a dominant theme), as "Keep Going" makes clear: "...your name misspelled on last evening's program;// the party uptown after the ceremonies and readings / an editor praising C's poems as if you weren't// standing there beside him, craving appreciation." The title poem's Gershwin-refrained questionings "wouldn't I choose if I could not to be human or/ any other mammal programmed for cruelty?" give way, in "I Wish I Want I Need," to unhurried lines explaining the plot of the 1970s film The Way We Were and why the speaker admires Barbra Streisand's performance therein. The grasping Freudian overtones finally overwhelm poems like "My Dream after Mother Breaks Her Hip" ("I can't dream her power away/ I'm caught here/ in eternity's shade// where I begin to move/ gradually gracelessly/ to embrace her// tree muse emptiness/ cage world") and aren't really ever relieved here, even by "Three Provincetown Mornings."
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Mazur's poems read like phone calls from a friend who confides a rush of contradictory feelings in a warm and compelling voice that could, dear reader, be your own. In "Questions," she reenacts the interrogations everyone performs on themselves in the dark times, sessions that revolve around the cry, "What is my purpose in life?" Elsewhere Mazur frets over her relationships with her mother and her daughter so naturally that it's easy to forget that these are keenly shaped poems that grow stealthily in complexity and resonance. A conversation with a stranger in a clinic, an old man spluttering racist remarks, takes the poet back to her childhood, a lost world where she shoplifted beauty aids and learned to drive. In "Girl in a Library," she wants to rescue a reading girl from what the future will bring, to tell her that "love's not safe for her." Safety, of course, is merely an illusion, as may be love, but, Mazur suggests, the very act of being, whatever the circumstances, is precious.
Donna SeamanCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved