As I've mentioned in a Fiction Friday a few weeks ago, one of the great treats about working in a library is wandering the shelves and spotting a book that you didn't know existed. So, something only librarians might appreciate is that poetry is not shelved in the fiction section, or some poetry section (which doesn't exist in libraries), but is shelved in Non-Fiction in the 811's. And that is where I cam across this book, by an author I love, and was unaware she wrote poetry.
morning in the burned house by Margaret Atwood(Mariner Books, 1996)
The strength of any poetry is the word. It is the choice of words, the choice of omission, and the order in which they come together. In this collection of poetry, most centered around the theme of aging, Atwood displays a mastery of all of those choices.
Her ability to take ordinary scenes and imbue them with a quality of imaginative beauty is the real treasure of this book. Her imagery is stunning. Her rhythm nearly impeccable. There wasn't any single poem that rose above the others, rather it was the entirety of the collection that gives it power.
I don't read poetry to the extent that I once did. In collect, I was a devoted reader of poetry, but sort moved away from it. However, every now and then I enjoy the form and relish the moments I spend absorbed in a collection. This was one of those books.
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