Beyond This Dark House

After being bowled over by the lyricism of Guy Gavriel Kay's prose in his flawless fantasy novel Tigana, I picked up a collection of his poetry hoping to find something similar. Happily, I did. Kay's poetry reminded me of two of my favourite poets: Pablo Neruda (indeed, Kay even quotes him at the start of 'The Guardians') and Leonard Cohen. Beyond This Dark House is precisely the sort of poetry I like: neither too florid nor too functional, but striking that rare balance between accessibility and impenetrability which is the mark of all great poetry.

Favourites include: 'Other Women, and You', 'On the Balcony', 'Following', 'The Last Woman I Loved', 'A Narrow Escape', 'Being Orpheus', 'This Truth', 'Lunch at the Gallery', 'Annotation', show more the titular 'Beyond This Dark House' and 'A Few Leaves'. show less

A collection of poetry by one of Canada's foremost fantasists.

This collection marks something of a departure for Guy Gavriel Kay, who has made his name in the realm of speculative fiction. While the book does contain some excellent speculative poetry, (mostly drawn from mythological sources), the bulk of it is personal and/or travel writing.

Kay always draws me in with his ability to make stories deeply, profoundly personal. His poems work in the same vein. He delves into the most essential elements of the relationships between people and places, looking for the deepest thing each subject has to offer. And he finds it, and illuminates it, and leads the reader into a new emotional realm. I revisted many of the poems the instant I'd show more finished them, so impressed was I with the depth of feeling Kay had imbued them with. I know I'll return to them again and again, and I have no doubt that I'll find something new in each poem every time. This collection has revived my interest in poetry. I'm now eager to read more.

Highly recommended to fans of Kay's prose work and those with an interest in contemporary poetry. show less

Summary: Guy Gavriel Kay, a noted Canadian fantasy writer, assembles his poetry into a single collection.

Review: Guy Gavriel Kay is one of my favourite fantasy writers. In his novels I can already see his love of language and the simplicity and meaning behind his words. So when I saw that he had a book of poetry out, I knew I wanted to read it.

The language that he extends to his novels create a ephemeral, beautiful collection, which reminds me of nothing so much as the liminality between autumn and winter. Some of the poems seem to be speaking through Kay’s persona while others still explore characters in mythology. They all of them have quiet pauses and blank space that the words edge around carefully. This is the sort of modern show more poetry I like best: the poetry of sound and silence.

(But really, I don't know how to talk about poetry at all. I analyze it often enough for my university English courses, but to pick apart metaphor and theme is different from asking whether or not I enjoyed it and why).

Conclusion: A strong collection with Kay’s trademark style. show less

Summary: A collection of poetry by an author primarily known for his fantasy novels. The poems are more contemporary, although they do draw from mythology and legend, as well as Kay's travels, loves, and life. I think the one word to best summarize the tone of the book as a whole would be "nostalgic", although individual poems run the gamut from love-struck to bitter, from bleak to humorous.

Review: Well, if there's one thing staring at my computer screen for the last half hour has proved to me, it's that I don't know how to review poetry. Heck, I barely know how to read poetry without a high school English class backing me up. Nevertheless, here goes nothing...

Guy Gavriel Kay is one of my favorite fantasy authors. He's not just a show more writer, he's a wordsmith, and his ability to stir deep emotion with one perfectly turned phrase is part of why I love his novels so much. So, I guess it shouldn't be much of a surprise that his poetry shows the same careful craft and power of imagery and emotion.

I will admit that I was not crazy about the format. This is absolutely a subjective thing, but free verse poetry is just not my favorite, and free verse is all that's to be found here. However, looking past that, the poems themselves were beautiful and lyrical, not the same as Kay's prose but clearly springing from the same brain. Some I loved, some made me wistful and some made me smile, and some were totally opaque to me, even on repeated readings. I kept looking for interconnecting threads to bind each of the sections (there are five) together, and I think I can see them... but darkly. Overall, this was a departure for me, but an interesting one, and it might actually have convinced me to keep reading poetry, so that's all to the good. 4 out of 5 stars.

Recommendation: Readers who come to this because they like Guy Gavriel Kay's fantasy and are looking for more of the same are going to be disappointed. Readers who come because they love the lyricism of Kay's writing, and his facility with turning the perfect phrase, or because they're interested in contemporary poetry will enjoy it much more. show less

Ah! This was really good. And you could see snippets of the mythology being woven before they were used in broafer senses in his fantasy novels. Such a gentle weaving of words - sometimes based on very ordinary scenes. It was lovely to see the poetry that first made Kay the author he would become. (Not that he is shabby as a poet!)

3.5 stars. Some beautiful, as I thought they would be from his novels; some inscrutably personal.

Northumbria

... and I saw horsemen:
indentations in the sky
above the heathered hills,
running away to Scotland
five hundred years ago.
The hills are then, easily.
The morning sun seems to want
those riders as much as I,
appearing in bright felicity
to shine on other times,
other worlds.

3.5 stars. Some beautiful, as I thought they would be from his novels; some inscrutably personal.

Northumbria

... and I saw horsemen:
indentations in the sky
above the heathered hills,
running away to Scotland
five hundred years ago.
The hills are then, easily.
The morning sun seems to want
those riders as much as I,
appearing in bright felicity
to shine on other times,
other worlds.