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pattydsf's review against another edition
4.0
"Telling the Gospel Truth (excerpts)
III
I want to womanize
the Bible, rend it, render it homey,
homemade, I lust to cut-and-paste.
I start with Mary, because I need her,
because I, too, am mostly mother now, appendaged
by my twenty-pound daughter
who’s intent as any dentist on fingering my incisors,
or pinching my shoulder’s beauty mark
that she hopes is a raisin --…
IV
Let us start with the stable.
Let it be a real stable, and let Mary be angry
at the filth of it, at dust sifting from the rafters.
Let her grow resigned as cracks of light are grouted by night,
let her grow out of mind
as the invisible fist grabs guts
and twists,
then twists harder…”
I have been so unfair to this book. I started it in January, and it might be the last book that I finish this year. Fennelly has written some of the most beautiful poems about being a mother and being a friend. I am so glad that I came back to it, even it took me eleven months.
I am especially grateful to the poems that speak to the child that she miscarried before her daughter, Claire, was conceived. As one of those women (about 25% of pregnancies are miscarried) who had a miscarriage, I am glad to have words written for such experiences.
I wish I could hear Fennelly speak these words. I am guessing that they would leap into my brain and lodge there in her voice. It has been almost 16 years since this book was published and I looked Fennelly up so I know she has two more children. I wonder how she sees these verses after her family has grown. Has that changed the way she sees the world?
There are poems on other subjects too. I especially enjoyed this one since we have been in this situation:
We Are The Renters
You need no other name for us than that.
The good folk of Old Taylor Road
know who you mean. We are
the renters, hoarders of bloated boxes,
foam peanuts. When the Welcome Wagon
of local dogs visits our garbage,
we're not sure which houses to yell at. So
what if we leave the cans there a bit too long.
We have white walls, a beige futon, orange
U-Haul on retainer, checks with low numbers.
Scheming to get our security deposit back, nail holes
are spackled with toothpaste. Ooops, our modifiers
dangle. Our uncoiled hoses dangle, but the weeds
in our gutters do not, they grow tall,
they are Renters' Weeds, they are unafraid.
An old black one-speed leans against the carport.
So what. Maybe we were thinking about riding
past these houses with posters for Republican governors.
We have posters too: Garage Sale. 'Can I hel—'
'No, just looking.' We are just looked at, we renters.
Are we coming soon to your neighborhood?
We're the ones without green thumbs,
with too many references, the ones
whose invitation to the block party
must have gotten lost in the mail. If we're still here
come winter, tell the postman not to bother
searching our nameless mailbox for his Christmas check.
III
I want to womanize
the Bible, rend it, render it homey,
homemade, I lust to cut-and-paste.
I start with Mary, because I need her,
because I, too, am mostly mother now, appendaged
by my twenty-pound daughter
who’s intent as any dentist on fingering my incisors,
or pinching my shoulder’s beauty mark
that she hopes is a raisin --…
IV
Let us start with the stable.
Let it be a real stable, and let Mary be angry
at the filth of it, at dust sifting from the rafters.
Let her grow resigned as cracks of light are grouted by night,
let her grow out of mind
as the invisible fist grabs guts
and twists,
then twists harder…”
I have been so unfair to this book. I started it in January, and it might be the last book that I finish this year. Fennelly has written some of the most beautiful poems about being a mother and being a friend. I am so glad that I came back to it, even it took me eleven months.
I am especially grateful to the poems that speak to the child that she miscarried before her daughter, Claire, was conceived. As one of those women (about 25% of pregnancies are miscarried) who had a miscarriage, I am glad to have words written for such experiences.
I wish I could hear Fennelly speak these words. I am guessing that they would leap into my brain and lodge there in her voice. It has been almost 16 years since this book was published and I looked Fennelly up so I know she has two more children. I wonder how she sees these verses after her family has grown. Has that changed the way she sees the world?
There are poems on other subjects too. I especially enjoyed this one since we have been in this situation:
We Are The Renters
You need no other name for us than that.
The good folk of Old Taylor Road
know who you mean. We are
the renters, hoarders of bloated boxes,
foam peanuts. When the Welcome Wagon
of local dogs visits our garbage,
we're not sure which houses to yell at. So
what if we leave the cans there a bit too long.
We have white walls, a beige futon, orange
U-Haul on retainer, checks with low numbers.
Scheming to get our security deposit back, nail holes
are spackled with toothpaste. Ooops, our modifiers
dangle. Our uncoiled hoses dangle, but the weeds
in our gutters do not, they grow tall,
they are Renters' Weeds, they are unafraid.
An old black one-speed leans against the carport.
So what. Maybe we were thinking about riding
past these houses with posters for Republican governors.
We have posters too: Garage Sale. 'Can I hel—'
'No, just looking.' We are just looked at, we renters.
Are we coming soon to your neighborhood?
We're the ones without green thumbs,
with too many references, the ones
whose invitation to the block party
must have gotten lost in the mail. If we're still here
come winter, tell the postman not to bother
searching our nameless mailbox for his Christmas check.
annajoyreed93's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
3.25
“Spring, it came late that year.
In wiped out Illinois, it snowed, it snowed,
it snowed some more. Such heavy snow,
our carport groaned beneath it,
then fell hard to its knees.
I waited
for slush, for thaw, for forsythia
to knot like a whip or a rosary, I waited
soberly, desperately,
and—because it had to—
spring did return.”
from Telling the Gospel Truth
In wiped out Illinois, it snowed, it snowed,
it snowed some more. Such heavy snow,
our carport groaned beneath it,
then fell hard to its knees.
I waited
for slush, for thaw, for forsythia
to knot like a whip or a rosary, I waited
soberly, desperately,
and—because it had to—
spring did return.”
from Telling the Gospel Truth
lelex's review against another edition
5.0
Oh man, this one got me in a way I absolutely didn't expect it to get me. I think that might just be Beth Ann Fennelly's writing style and absolutely bonkers way of describing things in perfect execution though. I'm in that weird phase of my life where whenever I see a baby for too long....I also want a baby? And some of these poems cultivate that exact feeling.
My favorites were On Collaboration: Downward Dog, Happy Baby, Cobra, which quite honestly undid me in a way that only women friendships filled with love and bordering on being in love, in whatever way that means, do, Telling the Gospel Truth, and The Gods Tell Me, You Will Forget All This. The bits about the birder and the poacher and giving her daughter the cherry tootsie pop both made me shiver.
"and your father was terror and blood spatter like he too was being born and he was, we were, and finally I burst at the seams and you were out, Look, Ha, you didn't kill me after all, Monster I have you and you are mine now, mine"
"Child, I've loved many things, I've loved food heartily, I've doubled garlic in every recipe, I've had the perfect peach and understood"
"Said Cézanne: Le monde - c'est terrible!
Which means, The world - it bites the big weenie."
"I'm moving to this town, you're moving to Sweden, now you lead me into Dancer pose but break from it to giggle because in my concentration I'm sticking out my tongue - now you're in my kitchen in your sexy Chinese skirt scissoring your fingers to show me where to snip pothos because cuttings start new plants, another thing I never knew -"
"if consanguinity means to share blood, Ann, come share blood with me in mosquito-thick Mississippi while there's still time left though our husbands have been looking at us strangely"
"I want to womanize the Bible, rend it, render it homey, homemade, I lust to cut-and-paste. I start with Mary, because I need her, because I , too, am mostly mother now, appendaged by my twenty-pound daughter who's intent as any dentist on fingering my incisors, or pinching my shoulder's beauty mark that she hopes is a raisin - I start with Mary, because she needs it, because her role's so flat she could never get Best Actress"
"I want to reclaim the optimism of the grand old religions, I want exclamations, exultations, belly laughs, shaking fists, tears for all my friends, tears on the house!"
"(Abraham - the one rewarded because he'd kill his child to please his God; Me - one who split her body open to please the tiny God who wanted out)"
"churning that pre-speech underworld where once we floated like deep sea divers holding hands in the original buddy system"
My favorites were On Collaboration: Downward Dog, Happy Baby, Cobra, which quite honestly undid me in a way that only women friendships filled with love and bordering on being in love, in whatever way that means, do, Telling the Gospel Truth, and The Gods Tell Me, You Will Forget All This. The bits about the birder and the poacher and giving her daughter the cherry tootsie pop both made me shiver.
"and your father was terror and blood spatter like he too was being born and he was, we were, and finally I burst at the seams and you were out, Look, Ha, you didn't kill me after all, Monster I have you and you are mine now, mine"
"Child, I've loved many things, I've loved food heartily, I've doubled garlic in every recipe, I've had the perfect peach and understood"
"Said Cézanne: Le monde - c'est terrible!
Which means, The world - it bites the big weenie."
"I'm moving to this town, you're moving to Sweden, now you lead me into Dancer pose but break from it to giggle because in my concentration I'm sticking out my tongue - now you're in my kitchen in your sexy Chinese skirt scissoring your fingers to show me where to snip pothos because cuttings start new plants, another thing I never knew -"
"if consanguinity means to share blood, Ann, come share blood with me in mosquito-thick Mississippi while there's still time left though our husbands have been looking at us strangely"
"I want to womanize the Bible, rend it, render it homey, homemade, I lust to cut-and-paste. I start with Mary, because I need her, because I , too, am mostly mother now, appendaged by my twenty-pound daughter who's intent as any dentist on fingering my incisors, or pinching my shoulder's beauty mark that she hopes is a raisin - I start with Mary, because she needs it, because her role's so flat she could never get Best Actress"
"I want to reclaim the optimism of the grand old religions, I want exclamations, exultations, belly laughs, shaking fists, tears for all my friends, tears on the house!"
"(Abraham - the one rewarded because he'd kill his child to please his God; Me - one who split her body open to please the tiny God who wanted out)"
"churning that pre-speech underworld where once we floated like deep sea divers holding hands in the original buddy system"
cassiewalek's review against another edition
5.0
Beth Ann Fennelly has a magical writing ability. Her poetry is so beautiful, raw, and honest. Her words will stick with me for a long time. What a delightful collection.
One of my favorites is from Telling the Gospel Truth:
"...so likewise I decided to stop picturing God as a white-haired old white man stop singing Him in hymns picture instead a gender less breeze who valued women and animals and gays and birth control and masturbation, I didn't know then that the threads I pulled ten years later would still be unraveling-"
One of my favorites is from Telling the Gospel Truth:
"...so likewise I decided to stop picturing God as a white-haired old white man stop singing Him in hymns picture instead a gender less breeze who valued women and animals and gays and birth control and masturbation, I didn't know then that the threads I pulled ten years later would still be unraveling-"
thewordslinger's review against another edition
4.0
This is a re-re-read for me. And now, coming back to it after finishing my MA in English Lit & Creative Writing, I find I have a new appreciation for poetry.
Beth Ann Fennelly was a guest speaker at my undergrad college something like 19 years ago (Christ was 2007 really that long ago?!). I picked a couple of her poetry books then on a whim because I enjoyed her readings.
I'll be the first to admit, I am not a mother, not a parent, and have no desire for children whatsoever... still the poems in this collection enthralled me, captivated me, and hit me in ways I can't explain and didn't expect. They left me feeling closer to my own mother.
Beth Ann Fennelly was a guest speaker at my undergrad college something like 19 years ago (Christ was 2007 really that long ago?!). I picked a couple of her poetry books then on a whim because I enjoyed her readings.
I'll be the first to admit, I am not a mother, not a parent, and have no desire for children whatsoever... still the poems in this collection enthralled me, captivated me, and hit me in ways I can't explain and didn't expect. They left me feeling closer to my own mother.
nmp's review against another edition
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
4.0
blreed's review against another edition
3.0
Vivid poems about new motherhood that avoid sentimentality and make me never want to give birth. Picked this one up because I read Fennelly’s later book Unmentionables in college and decided to explore more of her work.