These poems give a taste, but did not completely satisfy. While this collection had a certain elegance, an archaeological/mythological scope, toothsome lines, it did not intoxicate me as some other of his work.

The last few poems saved this from a three star rating

A bit cloying at times but when this collection works, it sings at a pitch that is nothing short of visionary -- as Graham Swift notes in a blurb for this. The opening poem is extraordinary, and others are just gorgeous. Ondaatje has a way of quieting down a scene so you take in every moment, and small things are deeply felt -- like the shift of the wind, or the settling of the mind into sleep. There are some gorgeous erotic poems in here too; not about the act of sex directly but about desire and the fragments that remain with us. When the poems don't work, they're a bit too saccharine ("Bronze became bronze / around him, / colour became colour.") He's also from Sri Lanka, and the Sri Lankan imagery (native trees, many Buddha statues, traditional architecture) is at times intricate and thoughtful, and at other times a bit opaque and accidentally orientalist to a non-informed reader (when combined with his more spare style). Lovely read, maybe not the best influence to young poets unless they know what specifically to take from his craft (his sense of attention -- not his vocabulary).

Mesmerisingly beautiful poetry. I love every single poem in this collection. Some, like Step, have stayed with me since the first reading. Collections like this can be dipped into as and when you need soul soothing, or beautiful words to elevate or collaborate with your mood. Often about grief or loss, Ondaatje's collected poems in this slim book are simple, elegant and deeply pleasurable to read and savour.

These poems are excellent. This book feels like one where it matters whether you read the poems in order or not. I think it’s best read in order. They build on one another. There are many stand alone greats but I felt like they made more of an impact when read with others. The poems deal with Sri Lankan history and imagery. They made me want to visit and find ancient statues buried in the jungle.

Handwriting. by Michael. ONDAATJE (1998)

The poems transport the reader to exotic places and sacred histories while evoking all the senses to share the experience.

While I appreciate his prose better than his poetry, there is beauty in this work. It offers a glimpse into another culture with poetry, which I tend to believe is the best way to view a culture. I found it fascinating. And there were a few poems that transcended culture and touched me based my own experiences.

THE DISTANCE OF A SHOUT

We lived on the medieval coast
south of the warrior kingdoms
during the ancient age of the winds
as they drove all things before them.

Monks from the both came
down our streams floating - that was
the year on one ate river fish.

There was no book of the forest,
no book of the sea, but these
are the places people died.

Handwriting occurred on waves,
on leaves, the scripts of smoke,
a sign on a bridge along the Mahaweli River.

A gradual acceptance of this new language.
(For me, if you take out the name of the river, this hearkens to the feelings of my ancestors back in 1066 on the British Isles.)

THE FIRST RULE OF SINHALESE ARCHITECTURE

Never build three doors
in a straight line

A devil might rush
through them
deep into your house,
into your life

THE GREAT TREE (PART THREE)

"So I have always held you in my heart…"

The great 14th century poet calligrapher
mourns the death of his friend

Language attacks the paper from the air

There is only a path of blossoms

no flamboyant movement

A night of smoky ink in 1361
a night without a staircase

(more like 4.5 stars)
Poems that read like stories of long lost civilisations hidden in the jungle.
I didn't like all the poems in the collection, but the ones I did, I LOVED. First book I read by Ondaatje and it won't be the last.

Sonorous, redolent, sumptuous, filled with the atmosphere. These poems are marvellous.

This collection was just okay for me. There were a few shining moments, but I think most of it went over my head. My favourite poem is below:

The First Rule of
Sinhalese Architecture

Never build three doors
in a straight line

A devil might rush
through them
deep into your house,
into your life

So beautiful and needed this on this afternoon. I like how even the way it’s lyrical tells a story