I could've sworn I remember an old post of yours to the effect of "Ewww, Anne Carson". Change of tune?

Probably! I joined this site when I was 15 or so and have said all sorts of things.

Here's an engaging, new article on Gluck by Richie Hofmann.

Cool. :)

Autobiography of Red is probably my favorite book (of new material) published in my lifetime.

[quote=Andrew Frisardi;455535]As Tim Parks wrote in 2011, the year Transtromer won it, the international pretension of the Nobel Prize is ridiculous.




I never understood the outrage over Tranströmer. He seems like a great poet, a much greater poet than Glück. Americans seem always angry when they don't win, and even angrier when a poet they have never heard of wins. How is obscurity a negative? In all honesty I would much rather an obscure Tranströmer than a famous Glück.

I want to second Anne Carson. I have some other poets and writers of fiction in mind but what is the point of throwing them out there?

I didn't take Parks's article as being a protest about the choice of Transtromer. His topic is the Nobel Prize in general. Also, by the way, the American poets I know were thrilled with the choice of Transtromer, so I'm not sure where you're getting that. I have never met anyone who is angry that a poet they never heard of won the prize. I'm quite sure I have never lost sleep over any of the choices.

.
Relax Kevin. I really doubt she would object to the poems being shared in this thread. She would likely object to some of the opinions and perhaps put her figurative hand over your figurative mouth, however...

Maybe you're right. I look to the moderators to guide me on such matters.

.
.

When an announcement is made of who has received a prize
I can never say with certainty if they are deserving or if others are more deserving.
Perhaps it's one more way in which I fail to fully service poetry.
I go pull their books out, if I have them, and begin re-reading the poems I have put stars by.
Here is one from "Descending Figure".

The Mirror

Watching you in the mirror I wonder
what it is like to be so beautiful
and why you do not love
but cut yourself, shaving
like a blind man. I think you let me stare
so you can turn against yourself
with greater violence,
needing to show me how you scrape the flesh away
scornfully and without hesitation
until I see you correctly,
as a man bleeding, not
the reflection I desire.

I like that, Bill. There is a bit of Calvino in some of her poems.