The Day The World Ends: Poems by Ethan Coen
As I have mentioned before, I am not a frequent reader of poetry. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had read any poetry before this month. I was a little apprehensive above agreeing to review this collection of poetry but was willing to give it a try when I saw who the poet was and also remembered that April was National Poetry Month.
So, first, the poet. Ethan Coen. One half of the Coen Brothers who are responsible for some of my favorite movies: Fargo, Burn After Reading, Raising Arizona! Love these. Of course, there are many more. The quirkiness in these movies is what I was hoping to find in Ethan Coen's poetry. I wasn't disappointed.
In fact, not only quirky these were also a little twisted and crazy. I had a lot of fun reading some of these to the hubby. We both would either find ourselves laughing hysterically or completely silent with mouths hanging open at the wrongness of what I had just read.
If you are interested in reading this interesting collection of poems, beware. There is profanity and some... questionable topics. If that doesn't bother you..be ready for some entertainment, and limericks!
Mixed in amongst these are a few shareable poems that are quite nice and give another view into Coen's mind. Here is one:
Smart
They hurl their lightening bolts at me.
I duck- and dodge- and feint- and flee.
The great contend; the mighty strive;
The slippery, like me, survive.
GIVEAWAY: Would you like a copy of your own to read? Just leave me a comment to be entered to win a copy of The Day The World Ends: Poems by Ethan Coen.
3.5/5
Source: Publisher/Author for review
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I like quirky poetry and would love to win Coen's book of poems.
ReplyDeleteharvee44@yahoo.com
I would love to win a copy of this poetry volume! My email address is readhandedlibrarian (at) gmail (dot) com. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteNo need to enter me as you know since I have reviewed and have a giveaway of this one too...but its such an odd duck this one.
ReplyDeletewould love to win it.
ReplyDeleteMarzipan Blues - Tiffany Atkinson
Later he tries to explain
the turquoise joy, at ten,
of that first Rangers strip;
his birthday-fingers skidding
on the wrapping’s brittle ice.
It’s occult, such a shock
of cloth – the sweet, sheer blue
enough to make his teeth ache.
Hard to bear the perfect interval
of white trim at the neck: the brisk
heroic V whose yearning geometry
fits just so. It’s a humbling ratio,
along the lines of football: stadium;
wee boy: the goals of men. But he’s
already elsewhere. And of course
he thinks I wouldn’t understand:
I’m pointing like a school-marm
everywhere but at myself. Look –
was the blue like this? I say. Or
this? Well, was it? Anything like this?