Anne carson the glass essay review

the glass essay analysis

I have always loved that line, and it meant something to me in college. My mother speaks suddenly.

Whacher

But whacher is what she wrote. How simple and in their simple, supposedly expressive structures, how unintentionally cynical about verse seem to me the speakers of so many political poems by American poets of the same period. Whatever happens, this is. Haw says grief is a long process. She never liked Law much but she liked the idea of me having a man and getting on with life. The Carson method involves a kind of mashup of old and new; she proceeds through juxtaposition rather than metaphor-making. As Moore writes in the opening to her second section: Africanus meant From Rome. Why hold onto all that? For example, is this a problem representational or narrative art itself creates, or is it a problem that arises in the specific instance where empire meets representational art?

He moved onto me. The mids was a curious time to be in college out East in America. The geometry of desire, which we usually take to be a two-way street I love you; you love meis actually a triangular circuitry of lover, beloved, and that which comes between them.

Anne carson books

I want no part of her therapist or word altars. But within five years after graduation, five classmates had died. Infatuated with Herakles, Geryon wonders as many infatuated lovers do , What happens if you love the person who is going to destroy you? She walks on the moors, they take a trip to see her father who has advanced Alzhiemers. I'm just wary it like those written silence things Martin does not try to describe this. It is transparent. Emily Bronte, the wha She whached the bars of time, which broke. Emily Bronte, the whacher. That volcano in the Philippines at it again. I can feel that other day running underneath this one like an old videotape—here we go fast around the last corner up the hill to his house, shadows of limes and roses blowing in the car window and music spraying from the radio and him singing and touching my left hand to his lips.

As a rule after lunch mother has a nap and I go out to walk. I want no part of her therapist or word altars. I came again and again, each time accumulating lucidity, until at last I was floating high up near the ceiling looking down on the two souls clasped there on the bed with their mortal boundaries visible around them like lines on a map.

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The Glass Essay