By Laurie Sheck
The “exquisite and haunting” (Booklist) selection of poems outfitted round the language and mystique of yank captivity narratives during which Sheck enters the brilliant existence we are living inside of our personal minds and selves, and takes us into the mysterious underside of cognizance and selfhood.
From Publishers Weekly
The squat, long-lined poems of Sheck's 5th assortment meditate on American captivity narratives—stories well known within the overdue seventeenth century, similar to Mary Rowlandson's a story of the Captivity and recovery of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, usually approximately abduction through local Americans—as metaphors for the restrictions of realization and the poetry that attempts to render it. those narratives are at once addressed within the 17 "Removes," a time period taken from Rowlandson's publication. somewhere else, Sheck (Black sequence) references different singularly American figures, together with Dickinson, Stevens, William James and Emerson. Sheck relishes the "slow conversion of myself into nothingness," an important (and usually violent) step towards figuring out "this chain of emotions in which we suggest (if it truly is that) a self." those poems now and then appear to courtroom vagueness—words corresponding to "scatter," "broken," and "elsewhere" are between Sheck's such a lot detailed descriptive phrases. a few readers may possibly locate that Sheck exhausts her issues and the time from which they originate; modernity appears to be like occasionally, and while it does—in the shape of "a monitor candescing," the human genome and one "marketing director"—the impact is jarring. all through, in spite of the fact that, Sheck's lengthy strains maintain a chic uncertainty, and her fractured syntax calls either Dickinson and Gerard Manley Hopkins to brain: "The seconds slant and coarse with split-asunder."
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Additional resources for Captivity
What does it matter to life that someone calls himself "I" and pleads for his wishes! What does it matter to earth which slowly turns itself around from season to season that someone struggles against its turning! Tilamod fattas oss manskor, vi har ingen tid att vanta, men runt om oss alia ar morker och morkret har gott om tid: Solar och stjarnor ar hjulen som driver evighetsuret —sakta, oandligt sakta forandras allt till evigt detsamma. Minnas l PA bron Appelblom under klarnad himmel, bjorkarnas flor mot skymningen, gront och doftande regnfriskt.
We prefer to discuss our methods of translation in terms of work habits rather than theories. Both of us have taught lyric poetry for many years, and we have come to distrust any and every kind of theoretical and programmatic statement that applies to all poetry in general and to no poem in particular. We have made Gunnar Ekelofs Dikter (Den svenska lyriken, Stockholm, Bonniers, 1965) the basis of our work. Until a reliable critical edition of Ekelof has been published, this single volume ac companied by Reidar Elmer's bibliography, will probably remain au thoritative.
Pi perrongen ingen manska. . Bottom angen med dess tocken, bortom skogen stiger dampat sorl av dansmusik och roster frin en folkpark, vars kulorta lyktor skymtar. Men i soder, dar det roda ogat blinkar, hors ett sakta mullrande, som fjarran iska, och man vet ej vilket tig det ar som nalkas, varthan det skall fora en i vida varlden, om det ar det ratta eller into ratta. . Och i ena handen hanger vaskan blytung, som om inneholl den allt vad man har lamnat. Runt omkring stir sommarnatten klar och gitfull.