GIVEAWAY & REVIEW: The Antigone Poems by Marie Slaight and Drawings by Terrence Tasker

(Thank you to the publisher and TLC Book Tours for providing me with a copy of this book!)

about book:

Featuring poetry by Marie Slaight and charcoal drawings by Terrence Tasker, The Antigone Poems was created in the 1970’s, while the artists were living between Montreal and Toronto. An intensely personal invocation of the ancient Greek tale of defiance, the illustrations and poetry capture the despair of the original tale in an unembellished modernized rendition.   The Antigone Poems provides a special expedition into the depths of the ancient Sophocles tragedy while questioning  power, punishment and one of mythology’s oldest themes: rebellion.

To learn more about The Antigone Poems, please visit TheAntigonePoems.com. 

my thoughts:

Poetry is my jam; which is why I chose to share some of my favorite poems with you throughout April aka National Poetry Month.   So, imagine my excitement when I heard about The Antigone Poems ?  A book of  poems and illustrations centered on a character from Greek mythology - how awesome does that sound?  Extremely awesome to me.

Created in the 1970s, The Antigone Poems, feels timeless with its feminist bent on the retelling of Antigone's story.  A tale centered on rebellion and filled with darkness, pain, and despair.  In Sophocles' play, Antigone tries to bury her brother in a respectable place, but is punished due to the fact that it was against the law to even mourn for him.  She's locked away and found having hung herself.  Talk about tragic.  Through her poetry Slaight introduces us to the struggles and suffering that women endure via the character of Antigone.  She employs language in a way that is passionate, wild, and mesmerizing.  Her imagery is spellbinding.  I was truly riveted by Slaight's poetry.  As for Tasker's charcoal drawings - oh my!  They were haunting, emotional, and unforgettable.  His drawings enriched the somber tone of the book.  I swear the poetry and drawings went together perfectly! I absolutely loved The Antigone Poems.  Not only did I fall in love with Slaight's poetry and Tasker's drawings, but I am now interested in reading more of Sophocles' plays.  Perhaps I'll thrown in some of Euripides' plays as well.  Don't you just love it when one book inspires you to read another - that is truly the mark of a great book.  I would most definitely recommend The Antigone Poems to fans of poetry and Greek mythology - you will LOVE this book!


GIVEAWAY:  Thanks to the publisher, I'm able to give away ONE copy of The Antigone Poems.  So, if you want the chance to experience some truly great poetry, just leave me a comment telling me who your favorite poet is.  Don't forget to include your email address, so that I can contact you if your name is chosen.  Last date to enter is 5/20/2015.  Good luck!!!

Here's the link to the TLC Book Tour schedule for: The Antigone Poems

Thank you to the publisher and TLC Book Tours for providing me with a copy of this book!

A Fable by Louise Glück

A Fable
by Louise Glück

Two women with

the same claim

came to the feet of

the wise king. Two women,

but only one baby.

The king knew

someone was lying.

What he said was

Let the child be

cut in half; that way

no one will go

empty-handed. He

drew his sword.

Then, of the two

women, one

renounced her share:

this was

the sign, the lesson.

Suppose

you saw your mother

torn between two daughters:

what could you do

to save her but be

willing to destroy

yourself—she would know

who was the rightful child,

the one who couldn’t bear

to divide the mother.

Source: Ararat (The Ecco Press, 1990)

The Untrustworthy Speaker by Louise Glück

The Untrustworthy Speaker
By Louise Glück

Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken.

I don’t see anything objectively.

I know myself; I’ve learned to hear like a psychiatrist.

When I speak passionately,

that’s when I’m least to be trusted.

It’s very sad, really: all my life, I’ve been praised

for my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight.

In the end, they’re wasted—

I never see myself,

standing on the front steps, holding my sister’s hand.

That’s why I can’t account

for the bruises on her arm, where the sleeve ends.

In my own mind, I’m invisible: that’s why I’m dangerous.

People like me, who seem selfless,

we’re the cripples, the liars;

we’re the ones who should be factored out

in the interest of truth.

When I’m quiet, that’s when the truth emerges.

A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.

Underneath, a little gray house, the azaleas

red and bright pink.

If you want the truth, you have to close yourself

to the older daughter, block her out:

when a living thing is hurt like that,

in its deepest workings,

all function is altered.

That’s why I’m not to be trusted.

Because a wound to the heart

is also a wound to the mind.

Source: Ararat (The Ecco Press, 1990)

Lines for Winter by Mark Strand

Lines for Winter
by Mark Strand

for Ros Krauss

Tell yourself

as it gets cold and gray falls from the air

that you will go on

walking, hearing

the same tune no matter where

you find yourself—

inside the dome of dark

or under the cracking white

of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.

Tonight as it gets cold

tell yourself

what you know which is nothing

but the tune your bones play

as you keep going. And you will be able

for once to lie down under the small fire

of winter stars.

And if it happens that you cannot

go on or turn back

and you find yourself

where you will be at the end,

tell yourself

in that final flowing of cold through your limbs

that you love what you are.

 

 

Source: New Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2007)

Let's meet in a restaurant by Marge Piercy

Let's meet in a restaurant
by Marge Piercy

Is food the enemy?
Giving a dinner party has become
an ordeal. I lie awake the night
before figuring how to produce

a feast that is vegan, gluten free,
macrobiotic, avoiding all acidic
fruit and tomatoes, wine, all nuts,
low carb and still edible.

Are beetles okay for vegans?
Probably not. Forget chocolate
ants or fried grasshoppers.
Now my brains are cooked.

Finally seven o’clock arrives
and I produce the perfect meal.
At each plate for supper, a bowl
of cleanly washed pebbles. Enjoy!


Source: Made in Detroit (Knopf, 2015)

Elegy for Smoking by Patrick Phillips

Elegy for Smoking
by Patrick Phillips


It’s not the drug I miss
but all those minutes
we used to steal
outside the library,
under restaurant awnings,
out on porches, by the quiet fields.

And how kind
it used to make us
when we’d laugh
and throw our heads back
and watch the dragon’s breath
float from our mouths,
all ravenous and doomed.

Which is why I quit, of course,
like almost everyone,
and stay inside these days
staring at my phone,
chewing toothpicks
and figuring the bill,

while out the window
the smokers gather
in their same old constellations,
like memories of ourselves.

Or like the remnants
of some decimated tribe,
come down out of the hills
to tell their stories
in the lightly falling rain —

to be, for a moment, simply there
and nowhere else,
faces glowing
each time they lift to their lips
the little flame.


Source: Elegy for a Broken Machine (Knopf, 2015)

Caged Bird by Maya Angelou

Caged Bird

By Maya Angelou
 

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Source: The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Random House Inc., 1994)

Harlem Night Song by Langston Hughes

Harlem Night Song
by Langston Hughes

Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.

I love you.

Across
The Harlem roof-tops
Moon is shining
Night sky is blue.
Stars are great drops
Of golden dew.
In the cabaret
The jazz-band's playing.

I love you.

Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.


Source: from The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes (Alfred A. Knopf, 1926)

A Bird, came down the Walk by Emily Dickinson

A Bird, came down the Walk - (359)

By Emily Dickinson

 

A Bird, came down the Walk - 

He did not know I saw -

He bit an Angle Worm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then, he drank a Dew

From a convenient Grass -

And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

To let a Beetle pass -

He glanced with rapid eyes,

That hurried all abroad -

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,

He stirred his Velvet Head. -

Like one in danger, Cautious,

I offered him a Crumb,

And he unrolled his feathers, 

And rowed him softer Home -

Than Oars divide the Ocean,

Too silver for a seam,

Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,

Leap, plashless as they swim. 

Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Reading Edition, edited by R.W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999) 

 

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Phenomenal Woman

By Maya Angelou

 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,   

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.   

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.   

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,   

And the flash of my teeth,   

The swing in my waist,   

And the joy in my feet.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered   

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,   

They say they still can’t see.   

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,   

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.   

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.   

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,   

The bend of my hair,   

the palm of my hand,   

The need for my care.   

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Source: The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Random House Inc., 1994)

National Poetry Month begins NOW!

April means poems, poems, and more poems. Yep, its that time of year - National Poetry Month.  Hurrah! This means I'll be sharing some of my favorite poems with you all throughout the month.  I hope you join in and post some of your favorites as well.

Here's the 2015 National Poetry Month from the Academy of American Poets:

Pretty awesome, eh?  It was created by Roz Chast (2014 National Book Award finalist and New Yorker cartoonist) and features a line of poetry from Mark Strand's "Eating Poetry".

And, to kick off National Poetry Month I will leave you with:

Eating Poetry

By Mark Strand
 

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.

Her eyes are sad

and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.

The light is dim.

The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,

their blond legs burn like brush.

The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.

When I get on my knees and lick her hand,

she screams.

I am a new man.

I snarl at her and bark.

I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Source: Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1991)

I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

Today's the last day of National Poetry Month and to cap off the month, I decided to share one last poem.  This is one of my favorites.  I actually hadn't thought about it in awhile, but after a talk I had with my mom the other day - well, it resonated with me even more.  You see, my  mom shared about some ugly moments that she and my aunt endured as housekeepers.  They were asked to eat in the kitchen - so to speak.  Although in my aunt's case, she was told to eat outside.  Thinking about what they went through made me think of this Hughes' poem, and it made me think of a lot of other things - but that is for another day and forum.  Anyhow, here's the poem:

I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes

I, Too, Sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table,
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed -

I, too, am America.