Amy Newman

Every poem is in the form of an envelope that employs a salutation and closing familiar to every poet. In the envelope is an impassioned letter, not pure or open, but with a boldness that changes the letter into an epistle and subdues its conceptual cleverness. Every poet has written the form letter as repetitively as they concatenate through the three seasons this book moves. There doesn't seem to be a definitive reason for the division into seasons, much like the motive for the divulged show more details remains undefined; but there is much in the book about a wanting to capture something that cannot be captured. Detail crumbs are dropped at the perfect pace to keep piquing interest, and the book ends just as the conversation you had with that stranger traveller you crossed with for a night does. show less

This was so unbelievably good omg.

Newman captures small moments in the lives of mid-century American poets like Lowell, Plath, Sexton, Berryman, and Bishop. Each poem places the poets in a multidimensional historical space, contrasting their actions with concurrent actions of other poets. Throughout there's a sort of mounting sense of dread because we know how it ends for so many of these poets: especially Plath, Sexton, and Berryman. We know the tragedy and desperation of their battle show more against mental illness. But even though that sense of dread exists, we also get to see these poets in quiet moments; Newman makes sure they live louder and stronger than they die.

The poems themselves are beautiful, sad, funny, tense, and they act almost as a Greek chorus, invoking and reminding American poetry of its history and the very real people that made up the mid-century canon show less