I guess, after reading Loose Woman published 4 years before this , I was expecting the same ballsy-ness throughout the whole collection. With lines both comic and sad, Sandra Cisneros deftly-and dazzlingly-explores the human experience. Her literary papers are preserved in Texas at the Wittliff Collections at Texas State University. She is insistent and tangibly here to inspire a chan My Wicked, Wicked Ways is a nice, solid collection of poems. Taking it and giving it back with a ferocious, elegant, beating of her chest.
We understand better how the poems in the second half are a woman wrestling with living alone and facing the need for sensuality and companionship, the struggle of finding a balance between maintaining independence and a desire for union. Nobody ever looked at me before. But I can't see without my glasses. The peral of the oyster that is Sandra Cisneros. But few of us can wring art from our grief as Cisneros has, here. Cisneros is able to speak the language of her heart and experience in this collection, and by the end I didn't want to put the book down. His movies are still played on television.
Instead, feet kick in doors. Rather than simply try to philosophize with pretty words, these poems are a real attempt to communicate the soul and spirit honestly and completely. This is one of those powerful instances of stumbling upon the right book right when I needed it. One of my favorites: Abuelito Who Abuelito who throws coins like rain and asks who loves him who is dough and feathers who is a watch and a glass of water whose hair is made of fur is too sad to come downstairs today who tells me in Spanish you are my diamond who tells me in English you are my sky whose little eyes are string can't come out to play sleeps in his little room all night and day who used to laugh like the letter k is sick is a doorknob tied to a sour stick is tired shut the door doesn't live here anymore is hiding underneath the bed who talks to me inside my head is blankets and spoons and big brown shoes who snores up and down up and down up and down again is the rain on the roof that falls like coins asking who loves him who loves him who? And we wonder how these men die broken, alone and addicted. That's probably true of the poems in this book as well--I'm sure I'd like them more if I saw Cisneros reading them.
Yet despite the occasional brusqueness, Cisneros still has heart. Beautiful free verse that stimulates every sense. She is the founder of the Macondo Foundation, an association of writers united to serve underserved communities , and is Writer in Residence at Our Lady of the Lake University, San Antonio. His movies are still played on television. Open like a window, hungry for my life. I meant to pace myself through this and instead fell hard and fast for the poems inside and finished it up in an evening. For those familiar with Cisneros only from her acclaimed fiction, My Wicked Wicked Ways presents her in an entirely new light.
And for readers everywhere, here is a showcase of one of our most powerful writers at her lyrical best. One of my favorites: Abuelito WhoAbuelito who throws coins like rainand asks who loves himwho is dough and feathers who is a watch and a glass of water whose hair is made of fur is too sad to come downstairs todaywho tells me in Spanish you are my diamondwho tells me in English you are my skywhose little eyes are stringcan't come out to playsleeps in his little room all night and daywho used to laugh like the letter kis sickis a doorknob tied to a sour stickis tired shut the doordoesn't live here anymoreis hiding underneath the bedwho talks to me inside my headis blankets and spoons and big brown shoeswho snores up and down up and down up and down againis the rain on the roof that falls like coinsasking who loves himwho loves him who? Cisneros really knows how to take everyday emotions that may seem like simple topics and turn them into such a thought provoking poem that I had to keep my highlighter near by because every other page was a poem that I felt in my soul! This seemed much more reflective, which, I guess, really wasn't what I was looking for at that moment. An author of both prose and poetry, Cisneros has an ear for sound and story. Reading poetry for me is an act of deep intimacy with myself, hence I wouldn't want to discuss what I liked or disliked. Even now as I write this I can smell the fresh tortillas, hear the music and the shrieks of the kids as they kick a ball up and down the street. The narrator, a young girl, is playing outside with friends Rachel and Lucy. I also agree that getting into the second half of the book, somewhere in Other Countries, is when this collection of poetry gets extremely bare-breast honest and unapologetic.
Waitresses have come and gone, I've stayed on. Here are verses, comic and sad, radiantly pure and plainspoken, that reveal why her stories have been praised for their precision and musicality of language. Cisneros has received more acclaim for her fiction, particularly The House on Mango Street and Woman Hollering Creek. The big palookas of life. Pomegranate and applehath not such temptingallure to meas your hypnoticanatomy.
I only liked 85 percent of the books I read instead of 90 percent? It's a rare poem in the next 60 pages that does not involve a man, yet there is no sense of the speaker being a victim. . In the second section, My Wicked Wicked Ways, the poet begins with discovering herself. Still, there are some lovely pieces. No two ways about it. But I don't believe herand go to see for myself. Take your hands off me.
It is a joy to read Cisneros first genre--poetry. In addition to her writing, Cisneros has fostered the careers of many aspiring and emerging writers through two non-profits she founded: the Macondo Foundation and the Alfredo Cisneros del Moral Foundation. This collection is like looking through another's person's soul and finding there world as something else. I say to the beautiful man. Beautiful free verse that stimulates every sense. And that feeling lingers in the reader long after they have finished the c This collection was incredible.
Cisneros is able to speak the language of her heart and experience in this collection, and by the end I didn't want to put the book down. The reason for only giving the collection three stars is that, on the whole, the poems failed to sparkle. I have read The House on Mango Street and Woman Hollering Creek and loved both of them but I must say when I read this the others paled in comparison. A selection that stings your throat like a shot of tequila. Lo que la oscuridad no nos permite ver y lo que nos permite.