What I found most interesting about Ellen Bryan Voigt’s Kyrie is the way each poem feels as if
it were written by someone different. If I had been told that this book were a
compilation of poems written by different people about the same subject
(Influenza outbreak of 1918), I absolutely would have believed it. In
considering voice, I think that Voigt’s poetry and general language powerfully
tells a different story with each turn of the page, and allows us as readers to
focus strictly upon the poem we’re reading rather than mulling over what we’ve
already been exposed to. It was a quick read, and I’m still trying to figure
out whether that fact is a good thing or a bad thing. After careful
contemplation of the pros and cons of Voigt’s book—stylistically, thematically,
visually, etc—I’ve decided that this is probably the book I’ve enjoyed least
out of all the ones we’ve read through this semester.
Additionally, I think it can be said that these poems can
stand just as solidly by themselves as they do together as one cohesive
collection. I could have just read one or two of them and been satisfied with
my exposure to the topic and to Voigt’s writing.
What I had the biggest problem with was the subject matter. This
is my least favorite book of poetry, and I’m not sure if that’s because of
Voigt’s personal style (probably not) or the lack of interest I have in the
subject matter. I’m compassionate toward the deaths that occurred as a result
of the pandemic, but it’s not something I can personally relate to so that
removed a lot of emotion for me that I think would have made the poems stronger
in my mind. None of them resonated with me; I couldn’t possibly choose a
favorite. It is possible that I’m comparing Voigt’s collection to the other
books of poetry we’ve read—Rookery, Nox,
etc—in which case I definitely prefer the latter two to the former. However, I
really believe that I wouldn’t have liked this book of poetry either way.
Voigt’s conversation of the pandemic of 1918 isn’t conveyed
in an interesting way. The nature imagery that she utilizes frequently doesn’t
seem to possess much depth, and that I believe was severely disappointing as I
was reading this book. I sensed very little metaphor, few uniquely-worded
images, and because of this, I felt like the emotion concerning the sickness
and death addressed failed to transcend the words on the page and into my head.
P.S. Yes, I liked this less than Nox!
