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Sto caricando le informazioni... Like a Beggardi Ellen Bass
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"Ellen Bass brings a deft touch as she continues her ongoing interrogations of crucial moral issues of our times, while simultaneously delighting in endearing human absurdities. From the start of Like a Beggar, Bass asks her readers to relax, even though 'bad things are going to happen,' because the 'bad' gets mined for all manner of goodness. Ellen Bass's most recent book of poems, The Human Line, was named a 'Notable Book of the Year' by the San Francisco Chronicle. In addition, she is co-author of the million-seller Courage to Heal. She lives in Santa Cruz, California"-- Non sono state trovate descrizioni di biblioteche |
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Google Books — Sto caricando le informazioni... GeneriSistema Decimale Melvil (DDC)811.54Literature English (North America) American poetry 20th Century 1945-1999Classificazione LCVotoMedia:
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I love her poetry. For me it is very personal and warm and human. I realize that the persona in a poem is not necessarily the author but much of Bass's poetry seems like snippets from her own life or experiences.
Looking through the reviews a lot of people seem to concur with me and I also noticed quotes from a number of the same poems I like. But there were plenty of other poems in this collection that are, perhaps, less talked about but also resonated with me because of my own experiences.
The Last Week
I thought she would want to save me
from it, the stench and the shame,
but in the last week of dying,
my mother let me change her diaper,
let me wipe her with a warm, wet cloth
and slide the sheet under her hips,
the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit.
I need to say how precise she was.
She had a rage for order, my mother.
In the store she wrapped half-pints of cheap gin
with the same care she gave to Chivas Regal.
She smoothed the glossy holiday paper,
folding the torn edge under, sharpening
the crease with her thumbnail,
tucking the ends into a humble origami.
I thought she'd cling to her dignity
but she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon.
I'm not sure what to call it.
I like the lines,
."the flesh softening, bones widening,
gravity pulling her back to earth like fallen fruit."
and the later references to fruit again,
"she seemed to forgive her body,
all its chaos and collapse,
or maybe it was a final ripening of trust or love, abandon."
and the final poignant line,
I'm not sure what to call it.
What do you call it? I remember thinking similar thoughts during the months long deterioration of my mother's health in a nursing home and eventual passing away in the hospital. Dignity abandoned or maybe it just doesn't matter any more? It was hard to say. ( )