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Raw Silk: Poems
A deeply moving collection from a poet who crosses borders
New York City poet Meena Alexander was born in Allahabad, India and divided her childhood between India and the Sudan. From her cross-cultural perspective, Alexander writes with moving intensity of post-September 11 events as she evokes violence and civil strife, love, despair, and a hard-won hope. This autobiographical cycle of poems reflects the surrealism of such a life, and is shot through with the frissons of pleasure and pain, of beauty and tension, that mark a truly global identity.
New York City poet Meena Alexander was born in Allahabad, India and divided her childhood between India and the Sudan. From her cross-cultural perspective, Alexander writes with moving intensity of post-September 11 events as she evokes violence and civil strife, love, despair, and a hard-won hope. This autobiographical cycle of poems reflects the surrealism of such a life, and is shot through with the frissons of pleasure and pain, of beauty and tension, that mark a truly global identity.
- GenresPoetry
112 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
About the author
Meena Alexander
48 books54 followersMeena Alexander was an internationally acclaimed poet, scholar, and writer. Born in Allahabad, India, and raised in India and Sudan, Alexander lived and worked in New York City, where she was Distinguished Professor of English at Hunter College and at the CUNY Graduate Center in the PhD program in English. She was the author of numerous collections of poetry, literary memoirs, essays, and works of fiction and literary criticism.
(from Wikipedia)
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
October 2, 2008
I read her notes first. I like being prepared and knowing what each poem is about before I read it. They were very in-depth and she's incredibly intelligent and well-read. The notes create insight, but only so much since many of her poems are inspired by other poets/philosophers/writers, etc. When reading, I only felt like I got half of each story and was lost on the rest.
Most of her poems are about war, post 9/11, fire, ash, death, and the darkness of mankind. The beginning was very powerful, while being simple and crisp. However, as the book went on, many of the poems were too vague and I felt they focused too much on other people than what it felt like her original intentions for the book were.
I liked the allusions to fire and ash throughout the book and somehow it managed not to feel over-done or repetitive, so her spacing in that aspect was excellent (which is a very delicate balance).
The book ended terrifically (which is a personal pet peeve of mine if the ending poem is not powerful). The last line "Sankara speak to me" was like a doubtful ellipses, lingering on the desperateness of hope and my own bafflement of human brutality. Very good!
Some of her poems were so haunting like "Firefly", "Ghalib's Ghost" (especially "I had to take my glasses off for that sack I was forced/to pull over my head"), "Hard Rowing" ("Take my arm right/where it was blown off/and set it in your sleeve."), "Petroglyph IV" ("Our language pierced by gunfire, precise as it can get,/alphabets stripped to skin and ligament."), "Opening the Shutters", and "Tryptch in a Time of War II" ("she has nose breasts hands a poet needs, also/that sweet etcetera, dark flower who sheds blood and eggs and/promises."
Most of her poems are about war, post 9/11, fire, ash, death, and the darkness of mankind. The beginning was very powerful, while being simple and crisp. However, as the book went on, many of the poems were too vague and I felt they focused too much on other people than what it felt like her original intentions for the book were.
I liked the allusions to fire and ash throughout the book and somehow it managed not to feel over-done or repetitive, so her spacing in that aspect was excellent (which is a very delicate balance).
The book ended terrifically (which is a personal pet peeve of mine if the ending poem is not powerful). The last line "Sankara speak to me" was like a doubtful ellipses, lingering on the desperateness of hope and my own bafflement of human brutality. Very good!
Some of her poems were so haunting like "Firefly", "Ghalib's Ghost" (especially "I had to take my glasses off for that sack I was forced/to pull over my head"), "Hard Rowing" ("Take my arm right/where it was blown off/and set it in your sleeve."), "Petroglyph IV" ("Our language pierced by gunfire, precise as it can get,/alphabets stripped to skin and ligament."), "Opening the Shutters", and "Tryptch in a Time of War II" ("she has nose breasts hands a poet needs, also/that sweet etcetera, dark flower who sheds blood and eggs and/promises."
Displaying 1 of 1 review