Begin Again: Collected Poems
By Grace Paley
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
The collected poems--some never previously published--of one of our best-loved, most respected authors.
Combining Grace Paley's four previous collections and new unpublished work, Begin Again traces the career of this direct, attentive, never predictable poet. Whether she describes the vicissitudes and pleasures of life in New York City or the hard beauty of her adoptive rural Vermont, whether she celebrates the blessings of friendship or protests against social injustice, her poems brim with the compassion and tough good humor that have made her stories and essays famous.
Grace Paley
Grace Paley (Nueva York, 1922 - Vermont, 2007) vivió entre dos culturas: la de sus padres, inmigrantes judíos rusos, y la de la gente de la calle, que le proporcionaba el material para sus escritos. Su obra es breve, pero la situó en un destacadísimo lugar entre los escritores norteamericanos. Además de sus tres excepcionales libros de cuentos, Paley es autora de tres libros de poesía, una miscelánea de obras en verso y prosa y una colección de artículos, reportajes y conferencias. Gran parte de su tiempo lo dedicó a la política: durante toda su vida participó en los movimientos feministas y pacifistas. Directora de diversos seminarios y talleres, enseñó en varias universidades. Recibió distinciones como el Premio Vermont a la Excelencia en las Artes de 1993, el Premio de Cuentos REA de 1992 y el Premio Edith Wharton de 1989. En 1989 el gobernador Mario Cuomo la proclamó primera Escritora Oficial del Estado de Nueva York. Fotografía © gentl & hyers / edgereps.com
Read more from Grace Paley
Enormous Changes at the Last Minute: Stories Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Grace Paley Reader: Stories, Essays, and Poetry Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Later the Same Day: Stories Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Fidelity: Poems Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
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Reviews for Begin Again
3 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Couldn't disagree with the previous review more. Paley's collection is a gem. For a relatively modest non-telephone book-sized volume, the breadth of her work astounds. You get New York stuff. Jewish stuff. Russian immigrant vignettes. You get her radical politics, trips to Hanoi, 80s Central America and feminism. You get poems about aging parents. Then aging when it happens to you. You get marriage poems. You get mother poems. You get poems about writing. You get Vermont in fall, with a Paleyesque caveat:"I did not want to be dependent on autumnI wanted to miss it for once"If only Robert Frost had missed a New England autumn for once in his life.In "Reading the Newspapers at the Village Store" she sums up fifty years of post-War U.S. foreign policy with the phrase "mild habitual murderers." Worth the price of admission right there.
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5I'm afraid poetry was not her strong suit; short story writing was. These poems are certainly accessible, with no obscure literary references or awkward, stilted prose. Unfortunately, most were so lacking in depth and style, that they weren't particularly thought provoking. To me, they lacked that delicious concentration of language that immediately conjurs up images or emotions. Surely, some made me smile, and others contained wise observations, but none made my hit list to share or read again.
Book preview
Begin Again - Grace Paley
I
A woman invented fire and called it
the wheel
Was it because the sun is round
I saw the round sun bleeding to sky
And fire rolls across the field
from forest to treetop
It leaps like a bike with a wild boy riding it
oh she said
see the orange wheel of heat
light that took me from the
window of my mother’s home
to home in the evening
Stanzas: Old Age and the Conventions of Retirement Have Driven My Friends from the Work They Love
1
When she was young she wanted
to sing in a bank
a song about money
the lyrics of gold
was her song
she dressed for it
2
She did good. She stood up like a
planted flower among yellow weeds
turning to please the sun
they were all shiny
it was known she was planted
3
No metaphor reinvents the job of the nurture of children
except to muddy or mock.
4
The job of hunting of shooting in hunting season of
standing alone in the woods of being an Indian
5
The municipal center
the morning of anger
the centrifugal dream
her voice flung out on plates of rage
then they were put in a paper sack
she was sent to the china closet
and never came back
6
Every day he went out, forsaking
wife and child
with his black bag he accompanied
the needle of pain as it
sewed our lives to death
7
One day at work he cried
I am in my full powers
suddenly he was blind
when slabs of time and aperture returned
dear friend we asked
what do you see
he said I only see what has been
seen already
One day when I was a child long