Linda Pastan (1932–2023)

She warns you in the first poem: ""If death is everywhere we look, / at least let's marry it to beauty."

The problem is, death is everywhere she looks. She's a marvelous poet continuing her themes, though with increasing shades of doom. I find myself wishing she could look at a butterfly and enjoy what it is, period.

Thirty years of poems. This was almost like reading an unintentional novel, following the arc of Linda Pastan's life not as a sequence of actual events but as a sequence of growth, of changing moods, of love and lust and motherhood and hospice. Her words are simple; her thoughts are deep. Her clarity is stunning. As a man, I appreciated the female point of view that drew me in rather than pushing me away.

Just finished Carnival Evening with my poetry group, and in three years of reading poetry together, Linda Pastan is our favorite poet. Her poems are very accessible; however, they're anything but prosaic. I think you could probably open the book, point to a line at random, and find some little gem of a phrase. In one of my favorites, "blizzard" (138-39), for example, you'd find "chairs become/laps of snow" and "the whole/alphabet/of silence/falls out of the/sky." These are images you show more recognize immediately, even though she's phrased them in such an unexpected way, and there's delight in that recognition.

This collection offers a great survey of Pastan's career as a poet, and there are more than a few recurring themes, including death, Eve, marriage, children, and for whatever reason, snow. What's really remarkable, though, is the amazing quality of work throughout. Her words are gorgeous from beginning to end. It's tough to pick favorites, but here are five: "Anna at 18 Months" (28), "Voices" (93), "threads to be woven later" (108), "November" (136), and "To a Daughter Leaving Home" (196). I'll be reading more of Linda Pastan show less

These poems draw you in, make you think, startle and delight, moments in life made suddenly clear or suddenly complicated, joyful or heartbreaking. Together they're like a life distilled into a fine wine, one that you'll return to again and again.