I loved this book. That’s probably obvious from my 5-star rating, but I love a lot of poetry books. What sets Good Bones apart is that Smith combined everything I appreciate in poetry in one collection. While she used the title with cynicism, it also describes the careful structuring of her work. When I reached the title poem in the final section, I realized (1) I’d read it before, (2) it was likely the reason the book was on my Wish List, and (3) it was featured in The Best American Poetry 2017, edited by Natasha Trethewey, which is the only edition of that series that has excited me.
Smith strikes a great balance between love, tenderness, and fear: the secret of motherhood. She mixes family, nature, and daily life in with the big picture view, adds vivid imagery, and keeps us under her spell the whole way through. Best of all, for me, is the wallop of her closing lines. She nails them and makes me want to pause a moment to take in what she said before moving on to the next poem, often reading the entire poem again first. There’s a bit of playfulness and magical realism, too.
One thing I didn’t expect was the feeling that I was visiting my mother, who died almost 40 years ago. From “Good Bones,”
“Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children…”
I couldn’t wait to see what would come next. Hint: buy the book.
I also loved how Smith turned several of the endless questions from her young daughter into philosophical, imagery-rich poems. For example, “What is the past?”
“…The past is a tide that drags out
but won’t return to shore: even your question
has been carried off.”
(“Past”)
“How do leaves fall off the trees and
how did God build this car?”
“The tree stops needing the leaves, so it lets go,
and people built this car….
…On second thought, the leaves
must let go, or else the tree would keep them.”
“Leaves”)