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Jane Shore

Auteur van Music Minus One

9+ Werken 102 Leden 2 Besprekingen

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Fotografie: Photo by Harry Jaffe

Werken van Jane Shore

Music Minus One (1996) 35 exemplaren
Happy Family: Poems (1999) 12 exemplaren
A Yes-or-No Answer: Poems (2008) 10 exemplaren
Eye Level (1977) 9 exemplaren
This Time, for Always (1990) 3 exemplaren
Ghosts of Allegheny Mountain (1990) 3 exemplaren

Gerelateerde werken

The Best American Poetry 2019 (2019) — Medewerker — 57 exemplaren
60 Years of American Poetry (1996) — Medewerker — 28 exemplaren
American Review 20 (1974) — Medewerker — 11 exemplaren
The Umbral Anthology of Science Fiction Poetry (1982) — Medewerker — 8 exemplaren

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Mother’s Day is just around the corner. In one of the happy serendipities of life, a book my son gave me for Christmas in 2012 caught my eye about a week ago. It’s jacket flap marked how far I’d read in it—about halfway through. I decided to read on. It turns out That Said by Jane Shore was the perfect book to get me in the mood for Mother’s Day!

Shore is a poet I’d never heard of. I don’t know why because she’s accessible and an interesting story teller —my kind of poet! Her poems are mostly autobiographical, talking about her life in New York. Her parents had a dress shop. They were part of a lively Jewish community. The adult Shore has a child of her own.

She writes frankly about her own mother, with whom she had a perhaps typical daughter-mother hot-cold relationship.

“When my mother got into a bad mood,
brooding for days,
clamping her jaw shut, refusing to talk …
… I’d call her ‘Mrs. Hitler’ under my breath”

(“Mrs. Hitler” - p. 182.)


In her job, Shore’s mother ate, dreamed and lived clothes. At thirteen, Jane lusted after the size three petites in her mother’s store. They would make her the best-dressed girl in school. But her mom would have none of it, coming home from Little Marcie’s Discount Clothes instead with an armful of clothes that had razored-out labels. Shore concludes:

“She was the queen;
I the heir.
It would have been a snap for her
to make me the best-dressed girl in school.
But for me she wanted better…

‘If I give you all these dresses now,
what will you want when you’re fifteen?’”

(“The Best Dressed Girl in School” pp. 188-191.)


Shore is a mother herself. In “The Bad Mother” she tells how she played with her daughter Emma, letting her daughter be the Princess, the Mermaid and Cinderella while she was the vain stepmother, the fairy godmother, and the wicked witch.

“Once I played the heroine,
Now look what I’ve become.
I am the one who orders my starving child
out of my house and into the gloomy woods,
my resourceful child, who fills her pockets
with handfuls of crumbs or stones
and wanders into a witch’s candy cottage.”

(“The Bad Mother” pp. 159-161).


Shore also writes about one of motherhood’s bitter experiences, losing a pregnancy. She writes of that in “Missing”:

MISSING

These children's faces printed on a milk carton--
a boy and a girl
smiling for their school photographs;
each head stuck atop a column
of vital statistics:
date of birth, height and weight, color
of eyes and hair.

On a carton of milk.
Half gallon, a quart.
Of what use is the body's
container, the mother weeping milk or tears.

No amount of crying will hold it back
once it has begun its journey
as you bend all night over the toilet,
over a fresh bowl of water.
Coins of blood splattering the tile floor
as though a murder had been committed.
read the rest here…


After her mother died Shore grieved. She takes us with her in the poem “My Mother’s Mirror” where she talks about dividing up her mother’s things with her sister. She inherits her mother’s mirror.

“Now at fifty,
I stare into her mirror
glazed with our common face,
the face I’ll pass down to my daughter
who watches from behind me
with the same puzzled look I had
when I watched my mother
out of the corner of her eye
watching me.”

(“My Mother’s Mirror” pp. 208-210.)


For those of us who are noticing how our mother’s physical characteristics are now being bequeathed to us and our daughters, “My Mother’s Foot” brings on a chuckle:

“Putting on my socks I noticed,
on my right foot an ugly bunion and hammertoe.
How did my mother’s foot
become part of me? I thought I’d buried it
years ago with the rest of her body…”

(“My Mother’s Foot - pp. 238,239.)


That Said, New and Selected Poems (2012) is a collection that starts with the newest poems and then circles back to include poems from Shore’s previously published books dating as far back as 1977. This collection reminds me a bit of some verse novels. After reading these writings that span so many years, I feel like I know Shore, her mom and dad, her daughter and her Scrabble-playing family.

Stanley Plumly’s cover endorsement sums up this collection well: “Shore’s poem narratives have long been praised for their juxtapositions of wit and quiet wisdom. Yet her poems of these past three and a half decades also speak through a Talmudic knowledge as ancient as the archetype. Her work is deep because its small worlds become so whole, exacting, and exclusive.”

Thank you, Jane Shore, for validating many of my feelings about my own mother and reminding me of how mothering is a circle of nurturing and being nurtured. You have enriched this year’s Mother’s Day for me with your poems of experience and insight!

… (meer)
 
Gemarkeerd
Violet_Nesdoly | 1 andere bespreking | Jan 4, 2015 |
Jane Shore's new book, "That Said: New and Selected Poems" is one of the best I've read in a while - she captures with grace and keen observation the small moments that make up a life. Much of her poetry is autobiographical, painting a quiet yet vivid portrait of a life. Shore's voice is direct and unsentimental, with a depth of feeling that belies the simplicity both of her words and of her subject matter. I recommend this for any reader who has ever found poetry to be inaccessible. I think Shore's matter-of-fact introspection help her poems speak to any reader, be they a poetry enthusiast or an unwilling novice.

Here's a favorite of mine from this book:

Fortune Cookies

My old boyfriend’s fortune cookie read,
Your love life is of interest only to yourself.
Not news to me. A famous writer
once showed me the fortune in his wallet—
You must curb your lust for revenge—
slapped over his dead mother’s face.

After finishing our Chinese meal
at that godforsaken mall,
eight of us crowded around the table,
the white tablecloth sopping up
islands of spilled soy sauce and beer,
the waiter brought tea and oranges
sliced into eighths and a plate of fortune cookies.

We played our after-dinner game—
each of us saying our line out loud,
the chorus adding its coda:
“You will meet hundreds of people...” “In bed.”
“Every man is a volume if you know how to read him...” “In bed.”
“You have unusual equipment for success...” “In bed.”
And those with more delicate sensibilities,
new to the group, blushed
and checked their wristwatches.

We divided up the bill, and split.
A few left their fortunes behind.
The rest slipped those scraps of hope or doom
into pockets and pocketbooks to digest later.
Maybe one or two of us got lucky that night
and had a long and happy life in bed.
On the ride home, I absent-mindedly
rolled my fortune into a tight coil,
the way you roll a joint, and dropped it
into my coat pocket,

and found it yesterday—
oh, how many years later—
caught between the stitches of the seam,
like one of those notes
wedged into a niche of the Wailing Wall
that someday God might read in bed
and change a life.
… (meer)
 
Gemarkeerd
smileydq | 1 andere bespreking | Apr 18, 2012 |

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Statistieken

Werken
9
Ook door
5
Leden
102
Populariteit
#187,251
Waardering
½ 3.6
Besprekingen
2
ISBNs
19

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