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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Gregerson's understated sophomore volume, The Woman Who Died in Her Sleep, focused on mothers, children and family tragedy; this follow-up broadens her subjects while retaining her distinctive form. Gregerson's trademark three-line, sandwich-shaped stanzas accommodate long and short sentences, awe and baffled suffering, quick changes and sustained visual attention. Here those stanzas illuminate subjects from autism to wilderness to suburban ecology, from biblical cruxes to Norwegian-American genealogy and emergency-room night shifts. Gregerson (who teaches at the University of Michigan) is also a respected Renaissance scholar, and her Shakespearean knowledge informs the moving opening poem, which fans out from a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream to exclaim, "how odd to be this and no other and, like all the others, marked for death?" A cento of Puritan texts asks, "What meaneth, Ye shall be my Jewells?" while a compact poem set earlier in this century offers "another sorry tale about class in America." The three-part "Passover" reviews recent history with a heavy heart ("If anyone here were in charge, my vote is scrap us and start over"), yet the same poem retains humor and scope enough to focus on the recent film Magnolia. There and in the title poem (included in last year's Best American Poetry), water and watersheds stand at once for the course of history and the perils of human indifference.
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From The New Yorker
Accomplishments abound in Gregerson's elegant third collection of poems, which is clearly informed by her work as a Renaissance scholar. Intimate conversations are made worldly, peppered with parentheticals and interrupted by other voices. A poem on her father's death is set against lines from Luke 12 and her father's own retelling of a Depression-era Red Cross drive; the poem becomes an elegy completed by acts of faith and charity. Gregerson's rich aesthetic allows her best poems to resonate metaphysically, offering a way to live both now and in history: "the past / that has a place for us will know us by / our scattered / wake."
Copyright © 2005 The New Yorker --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
See all Editorial Reviews
Gregerson's understated sophomore volume, The Woman Who Died in Her Sleep, focused on mothers, children and family tragedy; this follow-up broadens her subjects while retaining her distinctive form. Gregerson's trademark three-line, sandwich-shaped stanzas accommodate long and short sentences, awe and baffled suffering, quick changes and sustained visual attention. Here those stanzas illuminate subjects from autism to wilderness to suburban ecology, from biblical cruxes to Norwegian-American genealogy and emergency-room night shifts. Gregerson (who teaches at the University of Michigan) is also a respected Renaissance scholar, and her Shakespearean knowledge informs the moving opening poem, which fans out from a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream to exclaim, "how odd to be this and no other and, like all the others, marked for death?" A cento of Puritan texts asks, "What meaneth, Ye shall be my Jewells?" while a compact poem set earlier in this century offers "another sorry tale about class in America." The three-part "Passover" reviews recent history with a heavy heart ("If anyone here were in charge, my vote is scrap us and start over"), yet the same poem retains humor and scope enough to focus on the recent film Magnolia. There and in the title poem (included in last year's Best American Poetry), water and watersheds stand at once for the course of history and the perils of human indifference.
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From The New Yorker
Accomplishments abound in Gregerson's elegant third collection of poems, which is clearly informed by her work as a Renaissance scholar. Intimate conversations are made worldly, peppered with parentheticals and interrupted by other voices. A poem on her father's death is set against lines from Luke 12 and her father's own retelling of a Depression-era Red Cross drive; the poem becomes an elegy completed by acts of faith and charity. Gregerson's rich aesthetic allows her best poems to resonate metaphysically, offering a way to live both now and in history: "the past / that has a place for us will know us by / our scattered / wake."
Copyright © 2005 The New Yorker --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
See all Editorial Reviews
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