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# Marie howe what the living do pdf **
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The slow pacing and simplicity are This is the everyday we spoke of. And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve What the Living Do (), an elegy to John, was praised by Publishers Weekly as one of the five best poetry collections of the year. When he died, it was a terrible loss to all of us, she tells Fresh Air 's Terry Gross This is the everyday we spoke of. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, I've been thinking: This is what the living do. the open living room windows because the heat's on too The poem’s conclusion, “I remember you” (Line), suggests that what the dead do is get remembered. the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in here, and I can't turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street the bag breaking, I've been thinking: This is what the living do Stripping her poems of metaphor, Howe composed the collection as a transparent, accessible documentary of loss Called What the Living Do, the poem is an elegiac description of loss, and of living beyond loss. the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, This is the everyday we spoke of. It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off. They certainly don’t deal with the trivial inconveniences of the living Like that of many prose poems, the form of “What the Living Do” allows for an open, easy-to-follow narrative, without structural distractions. the open living-room windows because the heat's on too the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through. It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through.