The Best American Poetry 2004

( 1 )

Overview

The Best American Poetry 2004 celebrates the vitality and richness of poetry in the United States and Canada today. Guest editor Lyn Hejinian, acclaimed for her own innovative writing, has chosen seventy-five important new poems and contributed a provocative introductory essay. Through her selections, Hejinian has created an essential nexus ? a meeting place for readers to encounter an extraordinary range of poets. With illuminating comments from the writers, and series editor David Lehman's insightful foreword ...

See more details below
Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (40) from $1.99   
  • New (9) from $1.99   
  • Used (31) from $1.99   
Sending request ...

Overview

The Best American Poetry 2004 celebrates the vitality and richness of poetry in the United States and Canada today. Guest editor Lyn Hejinian, acclaimed for her own innovative writing, has chosen seventy-five important new poems and contributed a provocative introductory essay. Through her selections, Hejinian has created an essential nexus — a meeting place for readers to encounter an extraordinary range of poets. With illuminating comments from the writers, and series editor David Lehman's insightful foreword evaluating the current state of the art, The Best American Poetry 2004 is an indispensable addition to a series that has established itself as the first word on what's new and noteworthy in the poetry of our times.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
Robert Pinsky Each year, a vivid snapshot of what a distinguished poet finds exciting, fresh and memorable: and over the years, as good a comprehensive overview of contemporary poetry as there can be.
The Washington Post
Asha Bandele, a Brooklyn-based poet, has taken for her first novel a subject extremely daunting and fraught with emotion: The police shooting of an unarmed jogger, seemingly inspired in part by the 1999 killing of Amadou Diallo. But rather than making her novel into an examination of political and racial issues or police brutality, Bandele turns it into a eulogy for motherhood lost, a plea for tenderness and the kind of storytelling that resurrects lost family history. — Susan Straight
Publishers Weekly
Solemn and occasionally maudlin, this first novel by the author of the acclaimed memoir The Prisoner's Wife tells a tragic, too-familiar story: a promising young African-American is mistakenly shot by the police in Brooklyn, N.Y. Nineteen-year-old Aya has been getting her life together after a brush with the law and is working hard to earn a college degree. Only the coolness of her beautiful, distant single mother, Miriam, prevents her from being truly happy. When Aya is gravely wounded, Miriam is forced to face her own past and examine her emotionally arid life. Shifting focus rather clumsily, Bandele chronicles Miriam's strict upbringing and forbidden romance with sweet Bird, an ambitious janitor. Miriam loses Bird just before Aya is born, and when Aya is taken from her, too, she resorts to violence. Though she ends up in prison, she is finally able to tentatively connect with others again, meditating on a line by Aya's favorite poet, Sonia Sanchez: "I shall become a collector of me/ And put meat on my soul." Bandele tells her story in simple language, though plaintive asides ("have you ever told me a joke, Mommy, or kissed me just because?"), and italicized laments ("Oh God, didn't I pay with Bird?") give the novel a sentimental veneer. Bandele's low-key take on a grim aspect of the urban black experience stands in refreshing contrast to more sensationalistic renditions, but Miriam's muddled final epiphany will leave readers wishing for something more. Author tour. (Oct. 7) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
In the introduction to each edition of this work, we are told that there ought to be an asterisk next to "best," as the editing process is fraught with subjectivity. "American" ought to have an asterisk, too: while all the journals that the poems originally appeared in are published in the United States, the authors come from all over the world. Experimental poet Hejinian has made some fine choices, selecting 75 poems whose authors include well-known poets like Billy Collins, Rita Dove, Robert Pinsky, and Jane Hirshfield. About half are not only intelligible but downright funny in their plainspokenness or verbose and lyrical yet still easily absorbed. The rest are challenging poems, as the logical connections between thoughts have been elided. These explosions of language-of insight, emotion, a piece of theory or a run of syntax-must be linked by the reader, which is no small feat. Though this entry may frighten some readers into thinking that they just don't "get" it, the series is a staple introduction to poets publishing in this country. Recommended for all libraries.-Joel Whitney, Fordham Univ., New York Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
A potent mix of familial strife and racial injustice in Brooklyn, by Essence editor, poet, and memoirist bandele (The Prisoner's Wife, 1999). Aya's story begins things: how the 19-year-old is reshaping her life after a year in juvenile detention (a heavy penalty in a case where she was arguably the victim.) The beautiful girl is a straight-A student in college and keeps an early curfew to appease her mother Miriam, a tight-lipped woman who has showered Aya with rules instead of love. When Aya is shot by a white policeman on her evening jog-her hooded sweatshirt similar to a robbery suspect's-Miriam is left at her daughter's bedside wondering whether she was all the mother she could have been. Miriam's own mother, suffering five miscarriages before the birth of her daughter, considered Miriam a miracle and protected her like a relic: Miriam's life was a warning of what not to do, who not to talk to, how not to think. When Miriam is 16, she meets Bird, a janitor at her high school, newly back from Vietnam. With Bird, Miriam begins to think and feel for herself, and the two begin a secret and chaste love affair. When Miriam's parents discover the relationship, she must move in with Bird and the loving grandmother he supports. The two build dreams for the future-despite Bird's Vietnam nightmares and the police harassment he endures, simply for being black in America. bandele's agenda, via Bird-the inequities of the black soldier, the long history of racial profiling, living with injustice and the effects of that on Miriam and those around her-finds a balanced voice in the short and angry life of Bird Jefferson. While Miriam is pregnant with Aya, Bird is "accidentally" shot by the police, andMiriam switches to emotional autopilot for the next 19 years, until the shooting of her own daughter. Though the end dips into the maudlin, first-novelist bandele delivers an eloquent message about the tragedy of dreams-and life-deferred.
Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780743257572
  • Publisher: Scribner
  • Publication date: 8/31/2004
  • Series: Best American Poetry Series
  • Pages: 288
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.44 (h) x 0.80 (d)

Meet the Author

Lyn Hejinian is the author or coauthor of more than two dozen books of poetry, including The Fatalist and My Life. She recently received the sixty-sixth Fellowship from the Academy of American Poets for distinguished poetic achievement at mid-career. She lives in Berkeley and teaches at the University of California.

David Lehman, the series editor of The Best American Poetry, is also the editor of The Oxford Book of American Poetry. His books of poetry include New and Selected Poems, When a Woman Loves a Man, and The Daily Mirror. He teaches in the graduate writing program at the New School and lives in New York City and in Ithaca, New York.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt


FOREWORD
by David Lehman

"Anthologies are, ideally, an essential species of criticism," wrote Randall Jarrell in Poetry and the Age. "Nothing expresses and exposes your taste so completely -- nothing is your taste so nearly -- as that vague final treasury of the really best poems that grows in your head all your life." Every reader is perennially compiling, enlarging, and revising such an anthology, which can never be "final" or definitive any more than a published anthology can be or should be exhaustive or complete. Anthologies are selective; they project an editor's taste, but they are also exercises in criticism. Their job is not only to reflect accurately what is out there but to pick and choose among the possibilities. Whether they set out to reinforce the prevailing taste or to modify it, they sometimes end up doing a bit of both. Anthologies can educate, can recruit new readers, can even create the conditions by which the new poetry may be savored and in time perhaps even understood, it being the usual case that enjoyment precedes understanding. All anthologies perform an evaluative function. Even where the claim is less absolute than in the title of The Best American Poetry, anthologies praise their contents. Donald Allen's New American Poetry, 1945-1960, the most influential anthology of the 1960s, which introduced a generation of readers to the Beats and Black Mountain, the New York School and the San Francisco Renaissance, may seem to have a neutral, descriptive title. But does anyone doubt that new here means best? Anthologies single out works worthy of perpetuation and as such they always constitute a prediction, an assertion, and a gamble.

Anthologies have played an even larger part in the education of modern poets than critics have noticed. Take the numerous poetry editions prepared by the long-lived Louis Untermeyer (1885-

1977), who attained eminence despite dropping out of high school and working full-time in his father's jewelry business until he was thirty-eight. Untermeyer was a prolific poet and a skillful parodist, but his real talent went into his carefully annotated poetry compilations. Both John Ashbery and A. R. Ammons, guest editors of the 1988 and 1994 editions of The Best American Poetry, have spoken of the powerful effect that Untermeyer's anthologies had on them when they were young men. In grade school, Ashbery won a current events contest sponsored by Time magazine and received Untermeyer's Modern American and British Poetry as a prize. The volume taught him that verse need not rhyme, that the pleasures of Robert Frost and Elinor Wylie were easily had but that the more "baffling" pleasures of Auden and Dylan Thomas ultimately held more charm. It was an Untermeyer anthology, perhaps the same one, that the late A. R. Ammons discovered as a nineteen-year-old sailor on a U.S. Navy destroyer escort in 1945. Reading it felt like a rite of initiation: "I began to imitate those poems then, and I wrote from then on." A generation later, Untermeyer's anthologies were still in circulation. They had a great effect on me in my teens. To his Concise Treasury of Great Poems I owe my first acquaintance with Milton, Keats, Yeats, Frost, Eliot. I remember prizing the editor's running comments. He had an eye for the quirky biographical detail. From Untermeyer I learned, for example, that William Cullen Bryant's father, a country doctor in Cummington, Massachusetts, "attempted to reduce his son's abnormally large head by soaking it every morning in a spring of cold water" and that Bryant died in New York City at age eighty-four upon climbing a flight of stairs shortly after dedicating a statue to Mazzini in Central Park.

There are pitfalls in every anthologist's path. Some are more avoidable than others. The editor who includes his or her own work runs a grave risk. In a 1939 revision of an anthology originally compiled in 1922, Untermeyer put in five of his poems and wrote about himself in the third person: "In 1928 he achieved a lifelong desire by acquiring a farm, a trout-stream, and half a mountain of sugar-maples in the Adirondacks, where he lives when he is not traveling and lecturing. He loves to talk and listens with difficulty." About Untermeyer, E. E. Cummings wrote scornfully: "mr u will not be missed / who as an anthologist / sold the many on the few / not excluding mr u." (This was a sort of proleptic obituary: Untermeyer outlived Cummings by fifteen years.) Similar complaints were voiced against Oscar Williams, the inveterate anthologist whose books introduced the young Ashbery to the new (and in some cases now undeservedly forgotten) poetry of the 1940s. In a generally favorable review, Randall Jarrell pointed out that an Oscar Williams production contained nine of Oscar Williams's poems and five by Thomas Hardy. "It takes a lot of courage to like your own poetry almost twice as well as Hardy's," Jarrell commented.

Some problems are inherent in the structure of any anthology. On what basis were these poems chosen, and not others? What claim can be made for these works? With what practical effect? The first question is the hardest to answer. The recognition of a great or even a very good poem precedes any articulation of reasons for the choice. A true lover of poetry will know it and savor it when the right thing comes along -- though sometimes he or she may need the tug that anthologies and critical essays are supposed to provide. My own criteria as a reader begin with an insistent pleasure principle. "Pleasure is by no means an infallible critical guide, but it is the least fallible," W. H. Auden observed. There is fierce competition for the reader's attention, and where impatience may once have expressed itself only after pages, today you can lose your reader in your opening line. A poem must capture the reader before it can do anything else, and to do that it must give pleasure.

An anthology aspiring to represent the best work in the field requires faith and trust: the editor's faith that a serious general audience for poetry does exist; the reader's trust in the editor's judgment. From the start, the governing assumption of The Best American Poetry has been that poetry worthy of reading and reading again is being written in such quantity and of such variety that it would be possible for an annual volume showcasing it to live up to the series name. The challenge is not only to select that work but to present it so attractively that it will connect with readers who have the curiosity and the goodwill but lack the time and the access to the plethora of print and electronic magazines in which the new poetry is appearing.

There are anthologies that organize themselves by region, genre, gender, movement, theme. Some of these beg the question of quality. Enough for a poem to be written about zucchini to warrant its inclusion in a volume of vegetable poems. But with anthologies that do not thus delimit themselves -- anthologies that would speak to an American audience generously conceived -- we expect that criteria of excellence have been invoked if not necessarily explained and defended. Helen Vendler has written cogently against "historically representative anthologies" in which the aim is the comprehensive coverage of a given era. She noted that the first two volumes of a Library of America anthology devoted to twentieth-century American poetry added up to eighteen hundred pages: "So many feeble poets; so many non-moving poems; so many withered dictions; so many sterile experiments. And so much pretentiousness; so much well-meaning polemic; so much prose masquerading as poetry; so many dubious poetics." An unsympathetic person might say the same about many a poetry anthology, even one fourteen hundred pages shorter. But while I disagree with Vendler's assessment of the two volumes under review, I believe that a contemporary anthology invites ridicule in precisely these harsh terms if it professes to be value-free in the aesthetic sense, or if it subordinates poetry to sociology, ethics, or politics.

As people groan ritually at puns, even the cleverest ones, some guest editors of The Best American Poetry have balked at the word Best in the title. This may reflect a culture-wide distrust of hierarchy and anything smacking of elitism. Still, it is noteworthy that editors of similarly titled anthologies of essays and short stories seem to feel little of the compunction that the poets bring to the table. Open a book of the year's best stories or essays and you will not encounter an expression of misgivings about the enterprise. Whatever else it intimates, the poets' self-consciousness about the word "best" is an acknowledgment that there is nothing scientific about the process of selection, that reading and judging are subjective and partial, and that some terms are best used with invisible quote marks around them. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for taking a stand, making a claim. Year after year The Best American Poetry recognizes that competition often accompanies the creation of art, which is made by persons of complexity and ambition who compete not only with peers but with ancestors. To be chosen by an admired poet for inclusion in a book that has "best" in its title must feel like an honor to all but the most jaded, and it means something because the ratio of poems considered to poems chosen is so extraordinarily one-sided. Thousands of poems are read multiple times in order to arrive in the end at a choice seventy-five. "No poet or novelist wishes he were the only one who ever lived," Auden has written, "but most of them wish they were the only one alive, and quite a number fondly believe their wish has been granted." There's a lot of truth to that. But The Best American Poetry also shows that poets who may have little in common, who come from different regions or movements and espouse clashing ideas or traditions, can coexist to each other's benefit in a single book.

In a relativist universe, where to be nonjudgmental is sometimes held up as a great virtue, there may be something quixotic about an enterprise labeling itself "the best." The use of the word may be written off as an example of American hyperbole. But it seems to me that this anthology series is also an attempt to redefine "best" and render it credible by conceiving of each year's edition as initially a clean slate and ultimately an overhaul of the previous year's book. Each year a distinguished poet of national reputation does the selecting. The idea is not to fix a canon but to suggest possible orderings: to acknowledge that canons do not remain fixed for long, and to act on the notion by shifting perspective annually in surveying new poetry in print or electronic circulation. Each volume in the series records the encounters of one poet with the contents of many magazines in one twelve-month stretch. Place the volumes side by side on a shelf, and they also chronicle the taste and judgment of some of our leading poets.

Neal Bowers feels that there is something in the atmosphere of universities that jeopardizes our ability to separate good from bad, best from second-rate, and that the dependence of poets on academic institutions is therefore at the root of this problem as well as others. "To say that something is good or bad, beautiful or ugly, worthwhile or a waste of time is to 'privilege' one thing over another," he writes in the Summer 2003 issue of Sewanee Review. "Anyone who makes such distinctions had best keep his views to himself else he risk being tarred as a monocultural, nondiverse reactionary." Bowers, a recently retired university poet, was continuing a critique of the creative writing profession that he began a year earlier in the July 2002 issue of Poetry. "Students emerge from graduate writing programs with an understanding of poetry as something manufactured for the exclusive inspection of their peers," he laments. Bowers likes employing metaphors drawn from economics. There has been, he charges, an assault on standards with the result that "the undifferentiated supply [of poems] far outstrips demand." The university has a monopoly on poetry: "With a rate of success unmatched even by Wal-Mart, the university has driven almost all independent operations into ruin, controlling the production and distribution of poetry and regulating its worth."

The voicing of objections to the institution of the creative writing workshop is not exactly a groundbreaking event, but Bowers's essays are so obviously heartfelt that they seem worthy of consideration. Though there may be elements of caricature in his description of how writing programs work, he would do us a service nonetheless if his essays provoked students and teachers in MFA programs to mount a defense of what they do. When Bowers argues that writing programs mark "the transformation of poetry from a passion to a professional undertaking," he makes me want to challenge the dichotomy. Why can't poetry be both a passion and a serious professional undertaking? Aren't our best teachers those who inspire and sustain the young poet's passion for the art -- and do so in a professional manner? Bowers attacks the notion that the only career path available to an MFA student is as a teacher in an MFA program. "Because poetry matters in and of itself and not as an aspect of employment, [people] can make time to write, whatever job they do to earn an income," he says. I agree. Go forth into the world is good advice. But Bowers's plea for "poetry professors" to rise up as one and renounce the "concept and common practices of the poetry workshop" is as absurd as it is unlikely to happen. To ditch the workshop is to ditch the writing programs' raison d'être as well as their most popular and effective structural innovation. Bowers reasons that instructors can reinvent themselves as old-fashioned literature professors. "Because their English-department colleagues have abandoned literature in favor of literary theory, poet-professors could seize the opportunity to restore the reading and discussion of literature." But writing programs do require their students to study the literature of the past; they can perhaps do it better, or more rigorously, but they do it, they keep literature alive as a subject of study and as an indispensable concomitant of the creative imagination. A bad workshop is going to be as painful and wasteful as any failed pedagogical endeavor. A good workshop can change your life.

Poets have recently given us new versions of Dante, Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Aeschylus' Oresteia, Sophocles' Philoctetes. And poets, whether they come from the ranks of writing programs or not, will contrive new ways to perpetuate the many traditions, movements, schools, and personalities that are conjoined in modern poetry. It is important that poetry have a base in the university. It is even better to find poetry in shops, cafés, bars, and clubs; spilling into the street; entering people's lives. This anthology series is predicated on the profoundly democratic notion that there are readers out there, in some cases far from museums and libraries, who are desperate for poetry to be in their lives.

Lyn Hejinian and I met at a poetry conference in Copenhagen in August 2001. Our Danish hosts had hoped that she and I would come to blows on a panel at which it was thought that she would represent the Language School and I the New York School in a debate. Instead we began a dialogue that lasted months, took different forms on different continents, and gave us both, I think, much pleasure. I knew in what great esteem she is held by the many young writers who consider her autobiographical sequence, My Life, to be a modern masterpiece. "I saw a juxtaposition / It happened to be between an acrobat and a sense of obligation / Pure poetry," she wrote in "Nights," a group of "night thoughts intended as an homage to Scheherazade," which Robert Hass picked for the 2001 edition of this anthology. I felt that this respected and admired writer with her eye for poetry, pure and otherwise, would make an excellent choice to serve as guest editor of this year's Best American Poetry, and I am glad I enlisted her. The Berkeley-based Hejinian threw herself into the task, reading as generously as she could while remaining true to her esthetic convictions and her commitment to poetry of a high experimental bent. One reason the volume is exciting is its strong accent on youth. But we also rejoice in the fact that a book containing a poem written by a high school senior (Marc Jaffee, now an undergraduate at Vassar) also contains a poem by Carl Rakosi, the Objectivist poet who celebrated his hundredth birthday in 2003. Above all, there is satisfaction in knowing that the contents of this book represent a coherent vision of what one important poet considers to be American poetry at its most vital, daring, and aggressively new.

In 2003 Louise Glück became the nation's twelfth poet laureate, succeeding Billy Collins in the post. Glück, who edited the 1993 volume in this series, has made few pronouncements in her new official capacity. She has given us a new poem instead: the beautiful October, published as a chapbook by Sarabande. It is a quiet and intimate poem and it has nothing political in it, yet it seems to have a public dimension, speaking to all who can identify themselves with that time of year when the light begins to fail and yellow leaves or none or few still cling to branches. At the end of the poem we reach the ultimate condition of lyric poetry: the lonely self contemplating the naked universe.

From within the earth's bitter disgrace, coldness and barrenness

my friend the moon rises: she is beautiful tonight, but when is she not beautiful?

The publication of such a poem -- or of seventy-five of them, gleaned from a year's intense reading -- creates the place where the private consciousness of the creative mind intersects with its most generous impulses toward community.

Foreword copyright © 2004 by David Lehman

Read More Show Less

Table of Contents

CONTENTS

Foreword by David Lehman

Introduction by Lyn Hejinian

Kim Addonizio, "Chicken"

Will Alexander, from "Solea of the Simooms"

Bruce Andrews, from "Dang Me"

Rae Armantrout, "Almost"

Craig Arnold, "Your friend's arriving on the bus"

John Ashbery, "Wolf Ridge"

Mary Jo Bang, "The Eye Like a Strange Balloon Mounts Toward Infinity"

Alan Bernheimer, "20 Questions"

Charles Bernstein, "Sign Under Test"

Anselm Berrigan, "Token Enabler"

Mark Bibbins, from "Blasted Fields of Clover Bring Harrowing and Regretful Sighs"

Oni Buchanan, "The Walk"

Michael Burkard, "a cloud of dusk"

Anne Carson, "Gnosticism"

T. J. Clark, "Landscape with a Calm"

Billy Collins, "The Centrifuge"

Jack Collom, "3-4-00"

Michael Costello, "Ode to My Flint and Boom Bolivia"

Michael Davidson, "Bad Modernism"

Olena Kalytiak Davis, "You Art A Scholar, Horatio, Speak To It"

Jean Day, "Prose of the World Order"

Linh Dinh, "13"

Rita Dove, "All Souls'"

Rachel Blau DuPlessis, "Draft 55: Quiptych"

kari edwards, "short sorry"

Kenward Elmslie, "Sibling Rivalry"

Aaron Fogel, "337,000, December, 2000"

Arielle Greenberg, "Saints"

Ted Greenwald, "Anyway"

Barbara Guest, "Nostalgia of the Infinite"

Carla Harryman, from "Baby"

Jane Hirshfield, "Poe: An Assay (I)"

John Hollander, "For 'Fiddle-De-Dee'"

Fanny Howe, "Catholic"

Kenneth Irby, "[Record]"

Major Jackson, from "Urban Renewal"

Marc Jaffee, "King of Repetition"

Kenneth Koch, "The Man"

John Koethe, "To an Audience"

Yusef Komunyakaa, "Ignis Fatuus"

Sean Manzano Labrador, "The Dark Continent"

Ann Lauterbach, "After Mahler"

Nathaniel Mackey, "Sound and Cerement"

Harry Mathews, "Lateral Disregard"

Steve McCaffery, "Some Versions of Pastoral"

K. Silem Mohammad, "Mars Needs Terrorists"

Erín Moure, "8 Little Theatres of the Cornices"

Paul Muldoon, "The Last Time I Saw Chris"

Eileen Myles, "No Rewriting"

Alice Notley, "State of the Union"

Jeni Olin, "Blue Collar Holiday"

Danielle Pafunda, "RSVP"

Heidi Peppermint, "Real Toads"

Bob Perelman, "Here 2"

Carl Phillips, "Pleasure"

Robert Pinsky, "Samba"

Carl Rakosi, "In the First Circle of Limbo"

Ed Roberson, "Ideas Gray Suits Bowler Hats Baal"

Kit Robinson, "The 3D Matchmove Artist"

Carly Sachs, "the story"

Jennifer Scappettone, "III"

Frederick Seidel, "Love Song"

David Shapiro, "A Burning Interior"

Ron Silliman, "Compliance Engineering"

Bruce Smith, "Song of the Ransom of the Dark"

Brian Kim Stefans, "They're Putting a New Door In"

Gerald Stern, "Dog That I Am"

Virgil Suárez, "La Florida"

Arthur Sze, "Acanthus"

James Tate, "Bounden Duty"

Edwin Torres, "The Theorist Has No Samba!"

Rodrigo Toscano, "Meditatio Lectoris"

Paul Violi, "Appeal to the Grammarians"

David Wagoner, "Trying to Make Music"

Charles Wright, "In Praise of Han Shan"

Contributors' Notes and Comments

Magazines Where the Poems Were First Published

Acknowledgments

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 1
( 1 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(0)

4 Star

(0)

3 Star

(0)

2 Star

(0)

1 Star

(1)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
Sort by: Showing 1 Customer Reviews
  • Posted November 4, 2009

    i really didn't like it

    i read the reviews before i read it and nobody liked it and then i read it and i knew what they were talking about. the poems were boring

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
Sort by: Showing 1 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)