Customer Reviews

Vita Nova

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4 star:		(1)
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Gluck's work should be read fully. She is hard to browse through, not only because she writes her individual collections as novels, but because all eight books continue the story of her life, poems chorusing and coruscating. The surrealist yearnings of Firstborn, the development of wry rhetoric to hide real paing through Triumph of Achilles, the deadly precision of Ararat, all culminated in a ferociously ecstatic (in a biblical sense) book, Wild Iris. Since then, Gluck has been in new territory and taking a lot of flak for it. Vita Nova lacks the iron control usually associated with Gluck. She is trembling in this book, vulnerable. Her cracks beging to show. Indeed the myth is stitched clumsily to the life, because Gluck has had a go at depicting her favorite subject (herself) literally coming apart at the seams. Its a triumphant continuation of her work, and, as always, I am breathless to see what she does next. And next.

Louise Gluck practices poetry like few others in the language. She does not write single poems; rather, she constructs volumes, she forms arcs of narrative and progression from single poems into books. Vita Nova, for me, does not succeed either as a volume, nor as a collection of individual poems. The central organizing logic, once again myth, the love of Orpheus and Euridice, offers few new insights into the tediums and betrayal and insoluble dilemmas of love. It is as if Gluck is traveling in a groove she has worn well over the years, perhaps too well. The stitching of myth with her own life was done better, though still clumsily, in Meadowlands. This is not Ararat, nor is it The Wild Iris, nor Descending Figure, volumes that invoke ache. Still, there are some excellent poems in this volume, some heartbreaking lines, and lines that communicate with immediacy and grace and utter wryness ("I thought my life was over and my heart was broken. Then my heart was broken."). But there are also poems that drag, mired in their own metaphors. Uncompelling. This is a volume that perhaps her seasoned readers will have to learn to love, at least appreciate, like Meadowlands. For those who are not familiar with Gluck, be assured that even this outing, not her best, still outshines most poets publishing today. For a true introduction, beginning readers should start with Ararat or The Wild Iris. Vita Nova should be saved for a time when you love her so much, you'll be able to forgive her at her half-mast. In the fleet of her own work, this is no flagship.

Though I don't feel this volume of poetry compares to some of Gluck's previous works ("Descending Figure," "The Wild Iris"), "Vita Nova" does evoke a great deal of sympathy for the doomed mythological lovers Orpheus and Eurydice. Throughout, the poet questions the aging process and the fact that spring, while functioning as a bringer of new life, also brings death and perpetuates loss. As in "Meadowlands," there are many poems which speak to subsequent poems, or include rich, sometimes funny, dialogue. Overall, "Vita Nova" is unusual with respect to subject-matter and is beautifully-written.

What the sea is: that we exist in secret. I wouldn't have imagined so much hope possible until I found these poems.

People who want to know what is going on in poetry these days ought to buy a copy of "Vita Nova" & keep it around the house. People who want to know what has always gone on in the best poetry ought to buy a copy of "Vita Nova" and carry it with them wherever they go.

Even though, I'm not american i must say that this the best poetry book i've read in 1999. It's a wonderful book

As a poetry reader who starts his every day by reading poetry,this book was my favorite for the year of 1999.Ms. Gluck should get a Nobel Prize so that other parts of the world can enjoy her masterpiece collections.

nothing more to say, flat out the best volume of the yea

Actually I'm just now ordering the book, andd haven't read it but Louise Gluck is in my opinion one of the most important poets of the century, and Wild Iris is the best book of American poetry written since WWII. I once picked Gluck up at the Airport and got lost and I hope she has forgiven me. Elizabeth McBride