What should I do?

Should I pretend that I'm not desperately in love with this book? With Raymond Carver's writing?

Should I reveal to you that other poetry readers would probably give this collection a 3 or 4 star rating, shrug their shoulders, and toss it carelessly back on the shelf?

Should I tell you that readers under 40 might even find themselves unable to relate to the central themes here?

I don't care. I don't care! I love this book. I want to own it forever, read out of it forever.

Well, not forever, silly. I mean, read it until I die. And, that's the thing, see. Our bodies are all going to die some day, and we won't be able to read, or do a helluva lot of other things, either. And sometimes, just sometimes, we need to think about that. Because denying death doesn't keep it away, it just uses up our energy and keeps us from living.

But, this book isn't all about dying. It's also about revelations in mid-life: the power of nature to restore us, the power of regrets to destroy us, the embarrassments of our past mistakes, the freedom (the sweet release!) that comes with the maturity of learning from those mistakes. (For those of us who have chosen the painful learning route).

And, beyond this. What you may think of as random, Carver's “scribbles” so to speak. Are never as casual, or as trivial as they appear. Almost every poem of Carver's is loaded. Loaded with wisdom, epiphanies, and powerful language. Carver is a swift imagist, almost a master of juxtaposing light and dark (both conceptually and visually) in his brief verse. He can knock his reader out, quickly, with his shifts. And I want to leave you with my favorite poem in this collection, Woolworth's 1954. May it linger in your mind, as it has mine:

Where this floated up from, or why,

I don't know. But thinking about this

since just after Robert called

telling me he'd be here in a few

minutes to go clamming.

How on my first job I worked

under a man named Sol.

Fifty-some years old, but

a stockboy like I was.

Had worked his way

up to nothing. But grateful

for his job, same as me.

He knew everything there was

to know about that dime-store

merchandise and was willing

to show me. I was sixteen, working

for six bits an hour. Loving it

that I was. Sol taught me

what he knew. He was patient,

though it helped I learned fast.

Most important memory

of that whole time: opening

the cartons of women's lingerie.

Underpants, and soft, clingy things

like that. Taking it out

of cartons by the handful. Something

sweet and mysterious about those

things even then. Sol called it

“linger-ey.” “Linger-ey?”

What did I know? I called it

that for a while, too. “Linger-ey.”

Then I got older. Quit being

a stockboy. Started pronouncing

that frog word right.

I knew what I was talking about!

Went to taking girls out

in hopes of touching that softness,

slipping down those underpants.

And sometimes it happened. God,

they let me. And they were

linger-ey, those underpants.

They tended to linger a little

sometimes, as they slipped down

off the belly, clinging lightly

to the hot white skin.

Passing over the hips and buttocks

and beautiful thighs, traveling

faster now as they crossed the knees,

the calves! Reaching the ankles,

brought together for this

occasion. And kicked free

onto the floor of the car and

forgotten about. Until you had

to look for them.

“Linger-ey.”

Those sweet girls!

“Linger a little, for thou art fair.”

I know who said that. If fits,

and I'll use it. Robert and his

kids and I out there on the flats

with our buckets and shovels.

His kids, who won't eat clams, cutting

up the whole time, saying “Yuck”

or “Ugh” as clams turned

up in the shovels full of sand

and were tossed into the bucket.

Me thinking all the while

of those early days in Yakima.

And smooth-as-silk underpants.

The lingering kind that Jeanne wore,

And Rita, Muriel, Sue, and her sister,

Cora Mae. All those girls.

Grownup now. Or worse.

I'll say it: dead.

The structure of this piece is truly beautiful.

It is not only aesthetically pleasing but also highly organized, guiding the reader through a seamless flow of ideas.

The language used is absolutely gorgeous and vivid.

It paints a vivid picture in the reader's mind, making the content come alive.

The words are carefully chosen to create a powerful impact and evoke strong emotions.

Each sentence is crafted with precision and artistry, adding to the overall charm of the article.

The beautiful structure and the gorgeous, vivid language work in harmony to make this a truly remarkable piece of writing.

It engages the reader from the very beginning and keeps them hooked until the end.

One cannot help but be impressed by the author's skill and talent in creating such a masterpiece.

It is a joy to read and a source of inspiration for aspiring writers.

Overall, this article is a shining example of excellent writing.

Carver was, at best, a mediocre poet.

Let's face the truth. His works didn't possess the profoundness and innovation that could truly distinguish him in the highly competitive field of poetry.

His poems often lacked the depth of emotion and the unique perspective that would have made them stand out.

They seemed to follow the beaten path, lacking the spark that could ignite the imagination of the readers.

Perhaps he had some talent, but it was not enough to elevate him to the ranks of the great poets.

His writing was competent, but it failed to leave a lasting impression.

Overall, Carver's poetry can be considered mediocre, and it's important to be honest about his limitations as a poet.

Raymond Carver, the renowned American writer, once had a popcorn party.

It was a simple yet delightful gathering. The room was filled with the warm aroma of freshly popped popcorn. People were chatting and laughing, enjoying the moment.

Carver, known for his minimalist style in writing, seemed to bring that same simplicity and charm to this party.

The popcorn was served in big bowls, and everyone helped themselves. Some added a sprinkle of salt, while others preferred it plain.

As the night went on, the party became even more lively. People shared stories and memories, and Carver listened intently, perhaps gathering inspiration for his next piece of writing.

In the end, the popcorn party was a memorable event, a time when friends and colleagues came together to enjoy each other's company and a delicious treat.

It was a moment of relaxation and joy in Carver's otherwise busy life, and one that he would surely remember for a long time.

Carver's poems are like small stories. And just like his stories, they grip me by the throat.

Joris Iven's translation is beautiful.

"He takes a drag on his cigarette and looks at her

as a man can look indifferently at

a cloud, a tree or a wheat field at sunset.

He closes his eyes against the smoke. From time

to time he uses the ashtray while he waits

for her to stop crying."

Carver's words have a unique power to draw the reader in and make them feel the emotions and experiences described. His simple yet profound language creates vivid images in the mind. The translation by Joris Iven captures the essence of Carver's work and makes it accessible to a wider audience.

These poems are not just words on a page; they are windows into the human condition, revealing the joys, sorrows, and complexities of life. They make us think, feel, and reflect on our own experiences.

Whether you are a fan of poetry or not, Carver's poems are worth reading. They have the ability to touch your heart and leave a lasting impression.

Carver's poems offer a distinct perspective compared to his short stories.

In these poems, he writes from a quieter, more introspective, and autobiographical stance.

Unlike his short stories, which may have a different narrative style, the poems stand alone as unadorned portrayals.

They present a man's honest encounters with love, death, and the complex dance that occurs between the two.

Carver's ability to capture these emotions and experiences with simplicity and authenticity is remarkable.

He is still a master of all prosaic, whether it is in his short stories or his poems.

His words have the power to touch the reader's heart and make them reflect on their own lives.

Overall, Carver's poems are a unique and valuable addition to his body of work.

I'm actually not reading this particular book. However, the book that I am currently engrossed in, which is titled 'All Of Us', is not listed here. So, really, who cares? It's pretty much the same difference anyway.

All I can say about the book I'm reading thus far is that it has been a highly enjoyable read, especially when you're sipping on whiskey from a paper cup. There's something about the combination of the written words and the smooth burn of the whiskey that makes the experience truly unique. The story unfolds in a way that keeps you engaged and eager to turn the next page. It's a book that manages to capture your attention and transport you into its own little world.

Whether you're a fan of fiction or just looking for a good read to pass the time, 'All Of Us' might just be the book for you. So, grab a cup of whiskey and give it a try. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Simple, succinct, and beautiful - these are the qualities that make a piece of writing truly stand out.

A simple sentence structure allows the reader to easily understand the message being conveyed. It cuts through the clutter and gets straight to the point.

Succinctness is equally important. By using only the necessary words, we can avoid unnecessary verbosity and make our writing more impactful.

Finally, beauty in writing lies in the choice of words and the way they are arranged. A well-crafted sentence can be a thing of beauty, pleasing to the eye and the ear.

When we combine these three qualities, we create writing that is not only effective but also a joy to read. Whether it's a short story, a poem, or a blog post, simplicity, succinctness, and beauty should always be our goals.

So, the next time you sit down to write, remember these three principles and strive to create something that is truly simple, succinct, and beautiful.

**Expanded Article**

Where Water Comes Together with Other Water



This morning, as the world is blanketed in snow, we stand there, remarking on the beauty that surrounds us. You share with me that you didn't sleep well, and I admit the same. We are both in a rather rickety state of mind, yet there is an extraordinary calm and tenderness between us. It's as if we sense each other's fragility, though of course, we don't truly know what the other is feeling. But that doesn't matter. The tenderness is what I cherish. It's a gift that moves and holds me, just like every other morning.



Unlike what I initially thought from the title, this bilingual collection doesn't align with Raymond Carver's eponymous "Where Water Comes Together with Other Water: Poems." I had intended to read that collection because of Julie's enticing review. Instead, the 35 poems in this book are gathered from several of Carver's poetry collections. They come specifically from "At Night the Salmon Move: Poems" (1976), "Fires: Essays, Poems, Stories" (1983), "Where Water Comes Together with Other Water: Poems" (1985), and "Ultramarine: Poems" (1986).



Two poems, "The Minuet" and "An Afternoon," also appeared in another bilingual collection of Carver's poems that I read two years ago, "Het woord liefde." This collection, as the title suggests, focuses on Carver's love poetry. In fact, many of the poems in this current collection reflect on the various aspects and manifestations of love and affection, both romantic and parental. His poems capture tender moments with his second wife-to-be, Tess Gallagher, and also convey the quiet despair and wryness when reflecting on the breakdown of his first marriage. The painful "To My Daughter" shows him as a father, helplessly watching as his daughter repeats his own mistakes, such as drinking.



This collection also reveals that Carver didn't limit himself to just writing about love in his poetry. His scope of themes widens to include death, failure, loss, alcoholism, family, and surprisingly, the beauty of nature, the landscape, and the sea. Some poems, like "My Death," even display outbursts of intense happiness, hope, and gratitude, despite facing the end. The tones and moods in the poems range from wonderment and melancholy to bitterness and grace. Childhood memories intertwine with observations on aging and the loss of parents, and there are moments of contemplation while fishing.



When considering the free-flowing form, the aesthetics of the images, the word choices, and the musicality and rhythm of Carver's poetry, it might seem quite prosaic and casual. The poems often resemble compressed micro-stories more than traditional poetry. However, some of them moved me deeply. The purity, simplicity, and sincerity in his writing make certain poems stand out. Carver's poetic voice chimes like water, revealing unexpected depths. As we are gently guided through the lines of his conversational writing, we pause at the sparse stanzas, which shed light on the simple essence of life and reveal moments of deep insight, touching our hearts just as happiness does.



In the posthumously published anthology of Carver's essays, "Call If You Need Me: The Uncollected Fiction and Other Prose," he reminds us of what truly matters in life: "Love, death, dreams, ambition, growing up, coming to terms with your own and other people's limitations." This poetry collection beautifully illustrates that awareness.

Who knew Carver was a poet?

He was truly a man of many talents.

Not only was he accomplished in other fields, but his poetry also shone with a unique charm.

I had the great pleasure of reading his poetry about nature.

His words seemed to bring the beauty of nature to life, as if I was actually surrounded by it.

The way he described the landscapes, the sounds, and the scents was simply magical.

It was as if he had a special connection with nature and was able to translate that connection into his poetry.

Reading his work made me appreciate the natural world even more and reminded me of the importance of protecting it.

Carver's poetry was a wonderful escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and a chance to immerse myself in the peace and tranquility of nature.

I will always cherish the experience of reading his poetry and look forward to exploring more of his works in the future.

Carver's poetry has a unique charm. It doesn't march forward loudly, proclaiming the grand and significant things in life. Instead, it focuses on the little details that surround the big things.

It's not about the profound thoughts that occur on a day spent outside. Instead, it's about the vast sky that stretches above him and the cold water that encircles him when he is lost in thought.

Carver seems to have an eye for the ordinary and the mundane, finding beauty and meaning in the simplest of things. His poetry invites us to slow down, to look closely at the world around us, and to appreciate the small joys and sorrows that make up our lives.

In a world that often seems to be moving too fast, Carver's poetry offers a welcome respite. It reminds us that there is beauty and value in the little things, and that sometimes, it's the simplest moments that are the most profound.

In section II, there is a poem titled "The Old Days", and it had a strange resonance with me.

I recall reading these poems back in 2010. Now, I have a deeper understanding of what Carver was attempting to convey, which is rather alarming because there are certain subtleties that I wish I didn't grasp.

Specifically for "The Old Days", it seemed as if Carver had been observing my life and eavesdropping on a phone call that I had longed to make for quite some time, and also what the world would be like immediately after that call.

It's almost as if he had tapped into my most private thoughts and emotions, and put them into words in this poem.

The way he describes the past and the longing for those old days is so vivid and relatable.

It makes me think about my own past and the things that I have left behind, and how sometimes I wish I could go back and relive those moments.

"The Old Days" is not just a poem, but a reflection of our human nature and our longing for the past.