Anne Pitkin's poems have such lyrical sweep, such a sensitive eye for the natural world as it touches the human, that reading Winter Arguments is like seeing a landscape or, better, a richly realized painting of a landscape dotted with figures. But that would leave out their music, which would be a loss. This is a wise and graceful book by a well-traveled woman who knows how to confront deep feeling and frame it to make it all the more intense.
Kaiverrat sormesi niskaani ja harot hiuksiini, kourasi harhailevat selke¤e¤ni pitkin alas ja kyljen le¤pi vatsalle, annat kovaksi paisuneen ike¤ve¤si ke¤mmeneeni ja ihooni kaikkialle pujotat arvoituksellisia kuvioita kysyvin, kuuntelevin sormin, apua, katso, sine¤, mine¤, sine¤ mine¤ se olen, pelkke¤e¤ raivoisaa janoa, epe¤toivoista hakemista, kolkutusta, kunnes hukumme toisiimme.
When you go out hunting wicked spirits, it's the simple things that matter most. The silvered point of your rapier flashing in the dark; the iron filings scattered on the floor; the sealed canisters of best Greek Fire, ready as a last resort... But tea bags, brown and fresh and plenty of them, and made (for preference) by Pitkin Brothers of Bond Street, are perhaps the simplest and best of all. OK, they may not save your life like a sword-tip or an iron circle can, and they haven't the protective power of a sudden wall of fire. But they do provide something just as vital. They help keep you sane.