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Review: "Ariel", Sylvia Plath
I go back and forth on this book. At times it made me feel like I couldn't read, like I had cottage cheese for a brain. I longed for Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who
1. fucks severely, and
2. goes in for narrative.
But then I read the second half of the book, which is more narrative-driven, in a sitting and found myself entering into the collection much more successfully, grasping the rhythm and substance (if not the import of every line). Ultimately though, I do think I do better with narrative poetry. I appreciate imagery and sound, but not exactly as aims in their own right when the piece's conceptual coherence isn't rock-solid. (And it may be more solid here than I always appreciated: right now, I'm not a great reader of this form.)
1. fucks severely, and
2. goes in for narrative.
But then I read the second half of the book, which is more narrative-driven, in a sitting and found myself entering into the collection much more successfully, grasping the rhythm and substance (if not the import of every line). Ultimately though, I do think I do better with narrative poetry. I appreciate imagery and sound, but not exactly as aims in their own right when the piece's conceptual coherence isn't rock-solid. (And it may be more solid here than I always appreciated: right now, I'm not a great reader of this form.)