Essay is narrative, but not that much actually happens in terms of plot. She never liked Law muchbut she liked the idea of me having a man and getting on with life.
A woman – the narrator – goes to stay with her aging mother. .]Out the window I can see dead leaves ticking over the flatlandand dregs of snow scarred by pine filth. That psychotherapy’s not doing you much good is it? Well he’s a taker and you’re a giver I hope it works out,was all she said after she met him.
Before that was “Nox,” a mass-reproduction of a handmade accordion-pleated art-book-in-a-box that Carson created in memory of her brother, the centerpiece of which was a translation and word-by-word interrogation of a Catullus poem.
I think “The Glass Essay” is still her best work; others would argue for “Autobiography of Red,” a verse-novel that reimagines the 10th labor of Herakles — killing the red-winged monster Geryon and stealing his herd of red cattle — as suggested by fragments from the ancient Greek poet Stesichorus.
G and Sad take a road trip, ending up at a strange clinic in an icy northland.
A handful of other characters derive — nominally — from Greek mythology. She’s having fun.” are delivered in narrow strips of type, justified at both margins like newspaper columns.
But wonderously, I’ve just discovered you can read the whole thing online at the Poetry Foundation. My mother’s kitchen is dark and small but out the windowthere is the moor, paralyzed with ice.
It extends as far as the eye can seeover flat miles to a solid unlit white sky. The kitchen wall clock emits a ragged low buzz that jumpsonce a minute over the twelve. 216 propped open on the sugarbowlbut am covertly watching my mother.
Hermes is a mysterious man in a silver tuxedo who shows up every now and then to guide them. It’s a format that counterintuitively speeds you down the page, as if creating a chute for language.
Io — the nymph turned into a cow by Zeus, then maddened by Hera’s gadfly — is the loveliest member of G’s herd, a sexy musk ox: Carson has, over the years, moved closer to bizarreness for the sake of bizarreness — but she still pulls it off, mainly because the impulse behind it is mischief. It also constricts in ways that put useful pressure on the poems’ wild music and wilder state of mind.