Oh my god, I dislike it a lot,
and I don’t give a damn if it rhymes or not.
Dear Byron, Plath and Baudelaire,
Oh, Pizarnik, Rimbaud and Verlaine,
What the heck is this? I’m cursing like hell.
It was a painful experience; I need some air.
** The end **
Oh, yes. I dared.
Well. I am so mad because I had high hopes for this book. Sure, I was more intrigued by the misadventure part, but still I thought I would like it.
However, I found this:
Heart on the Line
Love is good,
it is never bad –
but it will drive you mad!
When it is given to you,
in dribs and drabs.
? What the hell is that?! Unbelievable. I feel bad for that poor tree that became paper. A bit unfair, don’t you think?
Okay, another sample:
Xs and Os
Love is a game
for the next x or o.
Beat that, Emily D.
Let’s take a look at these other gems:
His Cause and Effect
He makes me turn,
he makes me toss;
his words mean mine
are at a loss.
He makes me blush!
He makes me want
to brush and floss.
He and I
When words run dry,
he does not try,
nor do I.
We are on par.
He just is,
I just am,
and we just are.
Your hand reaches for mine.
We kiss tentatively, passionately
and then, tenderly.
You brush my hair away from my face.
I wrinkle my nose in protest.
Like Care Bears vomiting sugary rainbows on Valentine’s Day.
And the prose poetry doesn’t get any better (Sad Songs, Dead Butterflies, Soul Mates, Angels…).
Anyway, when I was 12 or 13 years old, I had this diary filled with little poems about love and unrequited love, sighs, love, prince charming, love and more pinky pink love with a pinch of girl-pining-for-guy-ready-to-leave-everything-to-be-with-him. I remember one of those high-quality poems:
“Yes, yes” te lo digo en inglés, “piano, piano” te lo digo en italiano y lo mucho que “te quiero” … ¡te lo digo en castellano!
That means something like: “Yes, yes”, I tell you in English, “Piano, piano”, I tell you in Italian, and how much I love you, I tell you in Spanish.
Do you see the resemblance? Leav’s poems are the kind of thing I (emphasis on word “I”) would have loved when I was 12. And with this, I am not saying I am so mature and such a complex and supernaturally smart person bla blasasdssdf. I love poetry, and I know that it does not have to be all pretentious with difficult words and incredible images and erudite thoughts. But, seriously, have you read those verses I just quoted?! I was expecting something more substantial. Really. For me, it can’t be all about how “you belong to me and I belong to you and now that you don’t belong to me I feel empty and this truck full of ice cream won’t make me feel whole again”, instead of knowing that only THINGS belong to you and you don’t need another person to make you feel complete because you were not born half-a-person but whole, a whole human being, so stop eating strawberry ice-cream with that delicious whipped cream on it and move on! Just saying.
Okay. Babbling over.
Anyhow… there are some chocolates here that come wrapped with little poems inside.
And I thought those were awfully cheesy. (Oh no, I am not translating that.)
If only I had collected all those poems… Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo! A better book.
I am sorry. I don’t enjoy rating books with one sad star. In fact, I don’t have many one-star books. I try to find the silver lining. But in my humble opinion, there is no silver in here, and definitely no lining. It is all cloudy and foggy and with a chance of rain. However, this is just one reader’s opinion. A lot of people liked this book, so go ahead and find out for yourself.
* Photo credit: Book cover via Goodreads.
Poem from Dos Corazones, Fel-Fort / letranomade