Alice Notley's Margaret & Dusty have such a bitter-sweet sting. There is the intelligent playfulness of the language, and softly lurking themes of death and loss, combined with a fresh ingenuity of perspective... This a truly beautiful collection, truly lovely. A gift.
Here is an excerpt from the poem "In Ancient December", this is the last stanza:
Can you worship loss? I can't remember it. I forgot to
sing it off from happening I had to arrange the flowers,
thousands everywhere, & thinly & it being purple I forgot
to see it ten thousand times. She forgot to. She
forgot to too. She would have forgotten anyway. She
didn't forget at any rate, she didn't anything. I didn't
either. I woke up I woke up again & I can't remember I
guess that's just it, but I didn't forget to sing this
time, but I forget what I'm singing. What am I singing?
Singing singing? What am I singing?