Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
    Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
    Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
    Ebook131 pages1 hour

    Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000

    By Lucille Clifton

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The long-awaited collection by one of the most distinguished poets working today.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBOA Editions Ltd.
    Release dateAug 11, 2020
    ISBN9781880238509
    Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
    Author

    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.

    Read more from Lucille Clifton

    Related to Blessing the Boats

    Related ebooks

    Social Science For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    Related categories

    Reviews for Blessing the Boats

    4/5

    49 ratings2 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      I 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.
    • 2/5
      I 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

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1