What do you think?
Rate this book
[Shells] (By: Craig Arnold) [published: April, 1999]
Paperback
Published April 19, 1999
1 person want to read
About the author
Craig Arnold
17 books10 followersCraig Arnold was a professor at the University of Wyoming. He cited Ani DiFranco as a muse and claimed he was more interested in art made in moments of happiness than art made to be beautiful. On April 26, 2009 Craig Arnold went missing on the island of Kuchino-erabu. He was in Japan to work on a lyric book about volcanoes. May 8, 2009 a search and rescue team concluded he suffered a leg injury and fell to his death on a steep cliff. According to his partner of six years, Rebecca Lindenberg, "he did not wait or wonder or suffer."
His first collection, Shells won the Yale Younger Poets selection. His follow-up, Made Flesh was critically acclaimed.
His first collection, Shells won the Yale Younger Poets selection. His follow-up, Made Flesh was critically acclaimed.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
Read
July 27, 2025Well I feel kind of like an asshole for being the only one writing a review for this collection, but man I didn’t like it.
I think this book is technically competent, and I think there are parts I would really enjoy but the first half of this collection really soured me to everything else these poems having going for them.
“The Power Grip” is a disgusting poem that disregards the victim of abuse to focus on running through overworked metaphors around sex and tying these seemingly real world events into poetic imagery.
Fuck a poet whose respond to abuse is talking about the connections to the fucking clouds.
I don’t know. From there things just started to rub me the wrong way. “Artichoke” and “Saffron” and “why I skip my high school reunion” all dance around the idea of past failed love and all that jazz but just the way he talks about it a way that makes me want to scream that maybe some of this is his fail and he is dancing around admitting or claiming any kind of responsibility.
And then you get to the poems in dedication to Ian Curtis and Jeff Buckley and the picture of masculinity starts to solidify and it all made me hate the idea of being a man.
I think there’s a world where I could have found myself liking more of the later poems, “Shore”, “Transparent”, “Snail Museum”, for example.
Again I can tell that these poems are all well crafted and technically really impressive but I had no interest in reading more into them when the voice is just so unsavory.
But maybe that part of the overall ideas presented here. It’s called Shells, it’s about discovering the vulnerability that hides beneath, it’s about hiding away in a protective casing, it’s about eating the animals that wear them.
The Foreword by WS Merwin talks about these poems being engrossed in pleasure and all I can think is pleasure derived from what? I think there’s a lack of acknowledging the elements surround the poems by the poet in these texts and what I mean by that is that maybe his failed relationships are his fault because he talks about them like that.
Maybe I’ll revisit this someday, but man am I tired of plain-voiced poets with highly technical verse.
I’m sorry again that this is the only review for the book on Goodreads.
I think this book is technically competent, and I think there are parts I would really enjoy but the first half of this collection really soured me to everything else these poems having going for them.
“The Power Grip” is a disgusting poem that disregards the victim of abuse to focus on running through overworked metaphors around sex and tying these seemingly real world events into poetic imagery.
Fuck a poet whose respond to abuse is talking about the connections to the fucking clouds.
I don’t know. From there things just started to rub me the wrong way. “Artichoke” and “Saffron” and “why I skip my high school reunion” all dance around the idea of past failed love and all that jazz but just the way he talks about it a way that makes me want to scream that maybe some of this is his fail and he is dancing around admitting or claiming any kind of responsibility.
And then you get to the poems in dedication to Ian Curtis and Jeff Buckley and the picture of masculinity starts to solidify and it all made me hate the idea of being a man.
I think there’s a world where I could have found myself liking more of the later poems, “Shore”, “Transparent”, “Snail Museum”, for example.
Again I can tell that these poems are all well crafted and technically really impressive but I had no interest in reading more into them when the voice is just so unsavory.
But maybe that part of the overall ideas presented here. It’s called Shells, it’s about discovering the vulnerability that hides beneath, it’s about hiding away in a protective casing, it’s about eating the animals that wear them.
The Foreword by WS Merwin talks about these poems being engrossed in pleasure and all I can think is pleasure derived from what? I think there’s a lack of acknowledging the elements surround the poems by the poet in these texts and what I mean by that is that maybe his failed relationships are his fault because he talks about them like that.
Maybe I’ll revisit this someday, but man am I tired of plain-voiced poets with highly technical verse.
I’m sorry again that this is the only review for the book on Goodreads.
Displaying 1 of 1 review