Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
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About this ebook
Lucille Clifton
Lucille Clifton (1936–2010) was an award winning poet, fiction writer, and author of children’s books. Her poetry collection, Blessing the Boats: New & Selected Poems 1988-2000 (BOA, 2000), won the National Book Award for Poetry. In 1988 she became the only author to have two collections selected in the same year as finalists for the Pulitzer Prize, Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir (BOA, 1987), and Next: New Poems (BOA, 1987). In 1996, her collection The Terrible Stories (BOA, 1996), was a finalist for the National Book Award. Among her many other awards and accolades are the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, the Frost Medal, and an Emmy Award. In 2013, her posthumously published collection The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton 1965-2010 (BOA, 2012), was awarded the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award for Poetry.
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Reviews for Blessing the Boats
49 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I read quite a bit of poetry, though I rarely end up sitting down and reading a collection by a single author at once without jumping between collections, journals, etc. This was an exception. I had read Clifton before, but only poems that were dropped into larger anthologies, and while I'd enjoyed them, I was never blown away. This collection, though, is one I'll keep and return to, and there are quite a few poems I'll be copying down into a journal I keep of favorite poems. There are some authors you go to for their language, and some for their ideas. Those who really capture you with both--particularly on a regular basis within their works, I find rarely. Here though, there's little left to be desired. The poems are beautiful, unique, thoughtful, and what's more, they're accessable. If you enjoy poetry, I strongly recommend this collection. I will say that I found the ending section to be the weakest--it was enjoyable, but didn't live up to the earlier work in the collection. If you're not deadset on reading the whole thing straight through, I'd recommend reading the last section, the poems from The Terrible Stories, first, and then beginning at the beginning to read the rest and the best of the work. That last section, by the way is about 18 pages out of 128, and it's still worthwhile, just not as memorable as the earlier portions of the book. Enjoy.
- Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5I thought I'd like this book at first glance. I saw it had been written by an African American woman, and it was the winner of the National Book Award.I was wrong. I read the poems aloud, but I got very little out of most of them. They sounded fine, but seemed to be way over my head. There were but a mere few that appealed to me. Those were Sorrow Song (the eyes of children), Photograph (black boys twirling), and (the best one) Wishes for Sons (a hex on men).This is not the kind of poetry I like. I am curious, though, as to what is so appealling about most these poems to others?
Book preview
Blessing the Boats - Lucille Clifton
new poems
(2000)
the times
it is hard to remain human on a day
when birds perch weeping
in the trees and the squirrel eyes
do not look away but the dog ones do
in pity.
another child has killed a child
and i catch myself relieved that they are
white and i might understand except
that i am tired of understanding.
if this
alphabet could speak its own tongue
it would be all symbol surely;
the cat would hunch across the long table
and that would mean time is catching up,
and the spindle fish would run to ground
and that would mean the end is coming
and the grains of dust would gather themselves
along the streets and spell out:
these too are your children this too is your child
▪
signs
when the birds begin to walk
when the crows in their silk tuxedos
stand in the road and watch
as oncoming traffic swerves to avoid
the valley of dead things
when the geese reject the sky
and sit on the apron of highway 95
one wing pointing north the other south
and what does it mean this morning
when a man runs wild eyed from his car
shirtless and shoeless his palms spread wide
into the jungle of traffic into a world
gone awry the birds beginning to walk
the man almost naked almost cawing
almost lifting straining to fly
▪
moonchild
whatever slid into my mother’s room that
late june night, tapping her great belly,
summoned me out roundheaded and unsmiling.
is this the moon, my father used to grin,
cradling me? it was the moon
but nobody knew it then.
the moon understands dark places.
the moon has secrets of her own.
she holds what light she can.
we girls were ten years old and giggling
in our hand-me-downs. we wanted breasts,
pretended that we had them, tissued
our undershirts. jay johnson is teaching
me to french kiss, ella bragged, who
is teaching you? how do you say; my father?
the moon is queen of everything.
she rules the oceans, rivers, rain.
when I am asked whose tears these are
I always blame the moon.
▪
dialysis
after the cancer, the