I've shared my admiration of this man before, but that won't stop me from saying again and again how absolutely exquisite I think he is. What strikes me about Handwriting is that it is so very personal and what impresses me is that it is even vulnerably so. It's as if he bled on the page for a while. For me, a great deal of bad contemporary poetry lacks that quality. Instead, I find most contemporary poetry is cowardly, the poet or narrator looks out rather than within, and if he or she does attempt to look within, then the language is either empty of soul, bloodless and impersonal, or it's overflowing drivel frothing with obtuse emotion and trite description. So it has been so refreshing for me to read Ondaatje's poems at a time when I was becoming kinda just a tad disillusioned with poetry. Handwriting is Ondaatje's revisiting of his homeland, Sri Lanka. In these poems he mixes the everyday with myth, the present with past, the real with art, he juxtaposes his childhood memories against his more discerning, more present or perhaps more distant adult eye. I think this is something that he himself is unsure of and testing--what is more true? what he believes today that he saw or experienced then, or what others' tales have told, or what he sees with his own eyes now? And I'm not sure but maybe there is no definitive answer, only that there is truth in all of it. And it is the impressions, the language, the effect not the fact that matters most in the end: "Handwriting occured on waves,/ on leaves, the scripts of smoke"("The Distance of a Shout").Needless to say, this little volume is a treasure that I will keep and revisit many times.
3 STARS"Handwriting is Michael Ondaatje's first new book of poetry since The Cinnamon Peeler. The exquisite poems collected here draw on history, mythology, landscape, and personal memories to weave a rich tapestry of images that reveal the longing for--and expose the anguish over--lost loves, homes, and language, as the poet contemplates scents and gestures and evokes a time when "handwriting occurred on waves, / on leaves, the scripts of smoke" and remembers a woman's "laughter with its / intake of breath. Uhh huh." (From Amazon)Ondaatje is one of the most lyrical writers and anything sounds lovely and fantastical coming from his pen. If you are fan you must read. A great collection of poetry!
What do You think about Handwriting (2000)?
Lovely, Lyrical, and Lusty!Michael Ondaaatje walks with you into his Sri Lanka where the richness there inspires the lush lingering prose that issues from his pen. In "THE SIYABASLAKARA" he begins.... "In the 10th century, the young princess entered a rock pool like the moon with a blue cloud Her sisters who dove, lit by flares, were lightning Water and erotics The path from king to rainmaking"...... It is indeed a rich and luminous landscape that he portrays. Follow him there! This captivating, powerful little book will both delight and seduce at the same time!
—Savvy
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 SHOUTWe lived on the medieval coastsouth of the warrior kingdomsduring the ancient age of the windsas they drove all things before them.Monks from the both camedown our streams floating - that wasthe year on one ate river fish.There was no book of the forest,no book of the sea, but theseare 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 ARCHITECTURENever build three doorsin a straight lineA devil might rushthrough themdeep into your house,into your lifeTHE GREAT TREE (PART THREE)"So I have always held you in my heart…"The great 14th century poet calligraphermourns the death of his friendLanguage attacks the paper from the airThere is only a path of blossomsno flamboyant movementA night of smoky ink in 1361a night without a staircase
—Cynthia Egbert
