I wrote poetry before I wrote books; I spent about five years of my teens taking refuge in verse. I won awards for my poems, and scared the daylights out of everyone with them, too, I think (which was ultimately the reason I gave it up.) Other choices lead to me becoming a novelist; had I not made them I think I would have instead become a poet. I'm very glad I decided to write books, but sometimes I wonder who I would have been had I traveled the road less taken. That's what I kept thinking as I read In a Dream You Saw a Way to Survive by Clementine Von Radics.
This is not an easy book of poetry to read. The author was (or is) mentally ill. It's frank to a brutal degree, and howls with pain, and demands answers the poet will likely never get. I saw way too much of myself in the verses, in particular when I was in my Postcards from Hell phase during my parents' divorce. So I don't recommend this if you're feeling fragile; it might smash you to pieces.
With that disclaimer, this is a brilliant, intimate collection of intensely personal thoughts that draw you into a silent conversation with the poet. I haven't been this impressed by someone's verse since reading Ariel by Sylvia Plath. So there's that, too.
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