It's a Shame About Ray
So as I alluded to in my annual greed post, after years of talking about reading poetry I've actually been reading poetry.
I started by borrowing a copy of Good Poems for Hard Times from my father, which is taken from Garrison Keillor's public radio gig The Writer's Almanac. I left it on my dining room table and read a poem or two every day during breakfast. As with most compilations, some of it was really brilliant, some average and some terrible. Before I returned the book to my father I put a post-it note in the front cover listing some of my favorites. One of those was by Raymond Carver, with whom I was previously unfamiliar.
Later this year I was visiting friends in Memphis, and we swung by Burke's Books which has been around since 1875. There I snagged a copy of Good Poems, and I'm working through that now. Carver has made some appearances here.
Then last month I caught Birdman, which features Michael Keaton as a famous Hollywood blockbuster actor trying to do a Broadway adaptation of Carver's What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. I'd describe this movie as polarizing: either you'll love it, or you'll hate it. I loved it, but I can definitely see why someone would not.
In any event, I figured all this synchronicity was a sign that I should actually read some of Carver's prose, so I got What We Talk About When We Talk About Love from the library. Good call. It's a short story collection, and I blazed through it. The stories are about the horrible things people do for love, or because they can't communicate about love. The worst, or possibly the best, is a three page story titled Popular Mechanics (or apparently sometimes called Little Things), which features a finish which is more horrifying than anything Stephen King or HP Lovecraft or Peter Straub ever came up with. Read it for yourself and see.
Carver was an alcoholic and abused his first wife. He's long dead, and I got his book from the library, so I think I can admire his writing without compromising any principles. You may like him too.
I started by borrowing a copy of Good Poems for Hard Times from my father, which is taken from Garrison Keillor's public radio gig The Writer's Almanac. I left it on my dining room table and read a poem or two every day during breakfast. As with most compilations, some of it was really brilliant, some average and some terrible. Before I returned the book to my father I put a post-it note in the front cover listing some of my favorites. One of those was by Raymond Carver, with whom I was previously unfamiliar.
Later this year I was visiting friends in Memphis, and we swung by Burke's Books which has been around since 1875. There I snagged a copy of Good Poems, and I'm working through that now. Carver has made some appearances here.
Then last month I caught Birdman, which features Michael Keaton as a famous Hollywood blockbuster actor trying to do a Broadway adaptation of Carver's What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. I'd describe this movie as polarizing: either you'll love it, or you'll hate it. I loved it, but I can definitely see why someone would not.
In any event, I figured all this synchronicity was a sign that I should actually read some of Carver's prose, so I got What We Talk About When We Talk About Love from the library. Good call. It's a short story collection, and I blazed through it. The stories are about the horrible things people do for love, or because they can't communicate about love. The worst, or possibly the best, is a three page story titled Popular Mechanics (or apparently sometimes called Little Things), which features a finish which is more horrifying than anything Stephen King or HP Lovecraft or Peter Straub ever came up with. Read it for yourself and see.
Carver was an alcoholic and abused his first wife. He's long dead, and I got his book from the library, so I think I can admire his writing without compromising any principles. You may like him too.