Already singled out by The New York Times and the subject of a feature in The New Yorker , Virginia Adair has, after decades of shunning book publication, decided to collect eighty of her best poems in a volume that will surely be hailed as among the most accomplished works of our time.
Ants on the Melon includes poems that concern the author's childhood, that explore sensuality in candid terms, that starkly treat her husband's suicide and her own blindness, and that explore both her own emotional landscape and the universal mysteries of the human condition. Technically brilliant, using strict, classical prosody, yet entirely modern in sensibility, Virginia Adair's poetry will play a central role in the ongoing American poetry renaissance.
Honest and profound; the pace of days weighed on the scale of universal truths - and the parceling out of the good and the bad - that each of us must accept. There are many lessons here - lessons that we all encounter as we pass through the seasons of life; lessons that we all must embrace as we pass through the here and now.
I worked for Virginia Adair. She was blind, and said she would lose her own poetry if she couldn't hear it. I must have read these to her hundreds of times. Once, reading her a poem about her husband's suicide, I choked up, thinking of my recently deceased husband. She got snappy, " Why aren't you reading ?" I said, " Virginia, I'm crying." She was quiet a bit, then said, " I'm honored."
I just straight up couldn't get into this book. Its poetry but nothing caught my attention and I was falling asleep on the bus reading it, it was so boring.
A wonderful book of verse, remarkable for the fact that I feel as though I've also read an autobiography. Wide breadth of style and range of emotions. Glad I plucked this from the stacks on a whim. Some personal favorites include Drowned Girl, Now You Need me, Surfers, Godstone, God to the Serpent, Peeling an Orange, One Ordinary Evening, and Dover.
Returning to read this volume after an absence of some years, I find the poems uneven but compelling, emanating from a bright, original intelligence. A striking voice that has not had the polish taken off the raw.
I’ve been craving poetry lately, and after many nights spent scrolling Instagram and reaching into the forgotten crevices of the internet I ventured into a Half Price Books to pick up a gift. While there, I browsed the poetry section, and I was drawn to the title and cover of this collection. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but a cursory reading of a poem or two and a quick check of the Goodreads score convinced me it was worth a try.
Although not every poem in this collection spoke to me, I marked seventeen as worth revisiting. With lines like “What is the color of a name?” (From “Laguna in September”) and laugh-out-loud pieces like “Reunion Between Planes”, it didn’t take long for me to become lost in Adair’s world.
When I got to “One Ordinary Evening” I was devastated. This reads like a memoir in verse, and the grief in the latter half of the collection is substantial. There is a note of hope, to be sure, but there is loss and sadness and confusion as well.
I am glad I stumbled upon this, and I’m eager to learn more about Virginia Hamilton Adair. This will be a treasured collection from here on out.
I was part of a poetry club in high-school, I took great pride in reading and writing poetry. This year has been one of picking up passions that I disregarded upon the advice of those not fit to give advice. So I picked up this book. I have no knowledge of Latin so some of the writing went over my head. I was introduced to new meters and forms causing me to reread bits, understanding things I hadn't quite understood the first time around.
This book confused me, it made the hair on the back of my arms stand tall, at times it made me chuckle but I know not why I am telling you this at all. :P
Pick it up and give it a read. There is beauty in a life spent full of poetry, passion, reason and rhyme.
Particular favourites of mine include: An Hour to Dance Cor Urbis LAX - Gatwick Where did I leave off? The Ruin One Ordinary Evening Pilot Take my hand Anna K.
Excellent writing but most of these poems went over my head.
I did like: "Yea, Though I walk" Stunted bush beside the unpaved road the shepherd often passes here with his hundred sheep their hooves churning the soft sand the lambs bouncing as they follow along. We walked under the palms to see the shepherd lead his traveling company but they had gone by earlier the dust had settled. Under the stunted bush a cool hollow in the sand in it a lamb too lame to follow a lamb with its feet wired together lifted its little face. Did the shepherd plan to return to that humble patience that quiet trust? Come that evening with a knife his fire several fields away already building heat the grill glowing?
The good shepherds of myth psalm and parable have always made me uneasy something wrong there leading me however gently to the slaughter
During college in the late 90's I was a member of a creative writing group called Di-Phi (Dialectic and Philological Society), where we would read, write, and perform poetry.
A fellow group member, Kristy W., brought forth a copy of Ants On The Melon to read aloud a rather sensual poem entitled "Peeling An Orange". Kristy's reading was pitched just so to coerce me into buying the book shortly thereafter. It happened to be one of many books I purchase(d) but never read, until now, for National Poetry Month 2009.
Virginia Hamilton Adair's poetry is based on visual stimulants rather than strictly emotional evocation. She recalls past events with such clarity and description that, were it not for her language, one might believe they occurred merely moments before she penned them.
And the more tragic events (i.e., her husband's suicide) seem to bring out sharper imagery, methods and rhythms. She also returns to the painful memories in several poems, which leads one to believe writing was not necessarily a means of employment but more often a therapeutic outlet.
Particular favorites of mine include:
Peeling An Orange One Ordinary Evening Red Camellias Lorna Dover Take My Hand, Anna K.