Mention Containing Books Averno
| Title | : | Averno |
| Author | : | Louise Glück |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | First Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 79 pages |
| Published | : | February 6th 2007 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (first published 2006) |
| Categories | : | Poetry. Fantasy. Mythology. Female Authors |
Louise Glück
Paperback | Pages: 79 pages Rating: 4.18 | 2254 Users | 181 Reviews
Chronicle Supposing Books Averno
Averno is a small crater lake in southern Italy, regarded by the ancient Romans as the entrance to the underworld. That place gives its name to Louise Glück's tenth collection: in a landscape turned irretrievably to winter, it is a gate or passageway that invites traffic between worlds while at the same time resisting their reconciliation. Averno is an extended lamentation, its long, restless poems no less spellbinding for being without conventional resoltution or consolation, no less ravishing for being savage, grief-stricken. What Averno provides is not a map to a point of arrival or departure, but a diagram of where we are, the harrowing, enduring present.Averno is a 2006 National Book Award Finalist for Poetry.
Itemize Books As Averno
| Original Title: | Averno: Poems |
| ISBN: | 0374530742 (ISBN13: 9780374530747) |
| Edition Language: | English |
| Literary Awards: | Laurence L. & Thomas Winship/PEN New England Award for Poetry (2007), Ambassador Book Award for Poetry (2007), Massachusetts Book Award for Poetry (2007), National Book Award Finalist for Poetry (2006) |
Rating Containing Books Averno
Ratings: 4.18 From 2254 Users | 181 ReviewsAssess Containing Books Averno
I couldn't say it better than this. From The NYTBR: "Far from the dull outposts where American poets have become willfully obscure or adopted antique models to assemble poems of scant content, poets like Glück are tapping the wellsprings of myth, collective and personal, to fuel their imaginations and, with hard-earned clarity and subtle music, to struggle with some of our oldest, most intractable fears isolation and oblivion, the dissolution of love, the failure of memory, the breakdown of the*4.5*i wish i could have given this collection full marks. although i love most of the poems here, there were still few scattered ones that didn't add much to the big picture. let's focus on the good majority.this poetry collections exists within two levels. one, our surface world, the earth, where nature rules. two, the underworld, proper hell, a cave in darkness without light or life. however, this is not a collection about staying away from the underworld nor about remaining trapped somewhere
That Gluck voice. Keep trying to understand why it has such a vulnerable authority, like someone wielding a dagger then using it to offer you a piece of fruit. A voice poised between challenge and cowering, distance and closeness, indifference and intimacy. In Prism, its the daughters assignment to fall in love; an improper vaccination leads to passion, desire and the search for love; the lover is the stranger in the shock of the first dawn. Theres a lot of attempt at dichotomy: of breaking
This is one of my favorite collections of poetry, and it contains my favorite poem of all time (A Myth of Devotion). Louise Gluck is the kind of poet that transports you to another world using often the simplest language, and this rare talent is what makes me return to her again and again. Her poems are at once soft and bracing, surprising and familiar. This is a collection I will reread many times over.
This was a reread, and a lovely one. It is always nice to hang out with Gluck's exacting sentences, her slimly lit poems, cold and slim as skipping stones.
thank you louise glück for giving voice to my heart in the wintertime
Sublime meaningsrapturously penetrating through the abyss of the heartpiercing tenderly our senses with words molded out of pain, beauty and love.AVERNO (Avernus in Latin) is a volcanic crater lake, which is thought by the ancient Romans to ran deep to the underworld. October"....I remember how the earth felt, red and dense,in stiff rows, werent the seeds planted,didnt vines climb the south wallI cant hear your voicefor the winds cries, whistling over the bare groundI no longer carewhat sound it
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