I mean, it was Richard Armitage reading LOVE POETRY. 19 minutes of pure swoon. Particular highlights include dark, brooding Richard reading "Anabel LeI mean, it was Richard Armitage reading LOVE POETRY. 19 minutes of pure swoon. Particular highlights include dark, brooding Richard reading "Anabel Lee" in a very Thorin Oakenshield kind of angst, the gorgeous "Maud" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and a Christopher Marlowe poem that I read and loved in high school and had forgotten existed. All the stars to Richard Armitage's voice. Mmmmmmmmmm. *heart eyes*...more
Okay. Yeah. That was....well, not my favorite ever thing. I feel like I just read my middle school AIM away messages or 200 pages of emo Myspace updat Okay. Yeah. That was....well, not my favorite ever thing. I feel like I just read my middle school AIM away messages or 200 pages of emo Myspace updates. I need to go listen to some Dashboard Confessional STAT.
I love the idea. I love the sentiments and the lessons, and CERTAINLY the feminist ideas at work here. If I saw any of the platitudes expressed in the "you" section on Tumblr, I'd happily reblog them. I definitely appreciate the raw emotions that very clearly went into the writing of them, and how personal the author was willing to get about her life. BUT. Um. Ummmmmmmmm. What the fuck.
But that...well. That's just not the kind of poetry I respond to. I find minimalist poetry EXTREMELY hit or miss, and when I (VERY RARELY) read poetry, it's usual the lusher, more ornate kind--or at least the more visually creative. Because this...I mean, there's nothing new here. It's generic Tumblr platitudes. It's emo angst that should be emblazoned over a picture of a sad girl on the beach and put on Pinterest. It's beyond basic metaphors and cliche imagery about hearts and stars and oceans. It's
hitting enter after nearly e v e r y w o r d and m a k i n g it feel deep.
To me that's just a waste of trees, but hey, to each their own.
Again, i APPRECIATE the raw angst here, but it's pretty clunky. There's no subtlety or nuance, which is why it makes me think of 13 year old me, just scribbling out PURE FEELINGS to the page because it was the only person who'd listen and all the feelings FELT SO NEW. Which, I mean, thank you for the nostalgia, if that's what was intended, but as a book of POETRY--sophisticated poetry for the modern feminist--it's a hard pass. I mean, this book of poetry even touched on things that are very personal to me, like grief, but I got zero feels. It was all so distant and buried in cliches.
Examples:
everyone i love leaves.
I...what? What Peyton Sawyer bullshit is this? That's the whole poem?? ONE TREE HILL WAS WANGSTING LIKE THIS TEN YEARS AGO.
i hope you treat her better than you ever treated me.
Did you carve this on the door of a bathroom stall or
Loading...
