Lawrence Raab’s richest work to date—his saddest, funniest, most personal, and most searching book Of Lawrence Raab ’s 1972 debut, Mark Strand “This is a first book with more authority and wisdom in it than most poets are able to manage in their entire careers. I am amazed by its casualness and clarity, its forcefulness, its engrossing strangeness.” Mystery and strangeness remain at the heart of Raab’s work, but now they are revealed more fully through the world around us—everyday deceptions, inexplicable violence, unexpected tenderness, the comedy of hope and desire. In one poem, Proust appears in Raab’s class to confront a student who disputes the great author’s claim that “the true paradises are the lost paradises.” And in the title poem, set just before the Fall, the snake alone understands how people will come to yearn “for whatever they’d lost, and so to survive/ they’d need to forget.”
“[…] people would yearn / for whatever they’d lost, and so to survive / they’d need to forget.” —“The History of Forgetting,” page 18
actually 4.5 stars!
what an honor to read the poet that made emma’s brain scrambled eggs truly. anyway, raab has such a clear and sparse command of his writing that it just hits you in the face with its emotional heart. you just have to sit there afterwards you know?
"The absence of God,” wrote George Bataille, “is greater, and more divine, than God.” Which is an idea God might have come up with if he’d been French and worried about how to make it through the twentieth century. Do you want this? If I take it away, will you want it more?
Or will you forget? That’s the problem with absence, it leave itself open to so much. Supernatural forces, for example. Glowing lights, out of which aliens appear like anorexic children. Let us help you, they say, although of course they never speak.
Once they just wanted to take over the planet. Now they feel sorry for us, the way God must have felt when he chose to retire into his silence. No more threats. No more angels, either. Only these lost children, come back to startle us, and vanish.
I don't usually read poetry collections of single authors but I'm glad I made an exception for this book of poems by Lawrence Raab. Some of them fell flat on my ears, but there were many that really struck a chord with me. At first I personally did not like the poems which were just continuations of quotes, but then I saw that said poems couldn't work without the quotes and actually grew beyond the choice lines at the beginning of each one. I'm looking forward to reading more of Raab's works - just not right away.
I didn't dislike this collection of poems, but none of them really spoke to me. The author is clearly talented even if he didn't write anything that captured my heart.