This Noisy Egg conversation discussion

There are so many great poems in this collection that it's difficult to pick just one that I love above all others. That said, the one that sticks with me the most is "Nor do I know the ways of birds clearly." I've never forgotten this poem from the first time I saw it, and it resonates with me as deeply today.
I also love "What is Wanted from the Suicides." First, it's just a great title. It contains the wordplay and punning that Walker is so adept at, but it also packs an emotional wallop.

http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/3...
Lynn, I want to kiss you for choosing some favorite poems. It's funny, today, someone else bought my book (surprising me again) and said the Suicide poem was her favorite too. I'm glad you like the puns!

I'll echo Lynn: it's hard to pick a favorite ... but pick a favorite I will.

(1) Picking St. Augustine’s Cherries. Favorite line from the poem: “I will stop. / I promise / if you will promise / when I do stop / to buy me a new pound of cherries.” From the notes: “St. Augustine is the Saint of Shame.... He took settling down too far and devoted himself to the Church.” Nicole also mentions something about the (a?) church codifying rather than unravelling shame. This is a profound thought, and (sadly) mostly if not entirely true. Reader Response: The line from the poem that I quoted above perfectly depicts shame in action. And it’s a funny line, too, which I love. One unravels shame, yes, by self-flagellation and repetition; but one unravels it, too, by laughing at it. Even better: laughing about it with others. Great stuff.

Lynn wrote: "the one that sticks with me the most is "Nor do I know the ways of bir..."

I love this poem, too. For e.g., who can't say "wow!" to this: “It wasn’t a premonition, just air / blown in from chaos, powerless as prayer.”

I was reminded of the story Spalding Gray’s widow told about the days following his suicide. Going from memory, she said something like the day after Gray committed suicide, a bird flew into their shared home. The bird, she was certain, was Spalding come to say good-bye. And oddly enough, the bird did act as if it were saying good-bye. And then it was gone, and Gray's widow felt comforted. I couldn't help thinking of that story when I read this poem this morning.