Let it bleed

Let it bleed

The poetry shelf in Borders in Palo Alto is not long. I had to wrestle Adrienne Rich’s The Dream of a Common Language out from its neighbours the other week; the shelf is packed pretty tight, and I got myself a paper cut. It seemed like it would be worth some trouble: I know Rich’s work from Marilyn Hacker’s using her for epigraphs to her own poems. When I opened the book I found blood on my hands.

So I bought it. Buy any poetry that spills blood.

I’m not alone in my reactions to Richard Dawkins’ clumsy tirade against religious belief. This month’s Prospect pans The God Delusion, making similar criticisms to mine.