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by: Daisy Fried
Amazon.com's Price: $12.95 Prices subject to change. Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours
Binding: Paperback
Dewey Decimal Number: 811.6
EAN: 9780822957386
ISBN: 0822957388
Label: University of Pittsburgh Press
Manufacturer: University of Pittsburgh Press
Number Of Items: 1
Number Of Pages: 80
Publication Date: November 22, 2000
Publisher: University of Pittsburgh Press
Sales Rank: 1215979
Studio: University of Pittsburgh Press
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Editorial Review:
Book Description:
Winner of the 1999 Agnes Lynch Starrett Prize
The thirty-three narrative, linguistically-adventurous poems in She Didn't Mean to Do It range freely among styles and voices. Examining human emotions and behavior in all their contradictions, Daisy Fried turns a perceptive eye on those around her. Fried integrates metaphoric flights and idiosyncratic narrative, surprising us with the details--'I saw the that wisteria/ in dusk its same color hung (heavier than /the breasts of stabbed and stabber ever would be)'--while her characters traipse across lines and pages. These are poems about human relationships, mostly romantic and sexual. They're also about jobs and work: urban, action-packed and socially aware.
Starrett Poetry Prize winners are published as part of the Pitt Poetry Series, which was founded in 1968 by the University of Pittsburgh Press to publish the best in contemporary American poetry. Since 1978 Ed Ochester has edited the series, and he serves as final judge of the Starrett competition.In 1990 American Bookseller pronounced the Pitt Poetry Series the first among five 'outstanding' university press series in the field of poetry.
Customer Reviews
Average Rating: 
Rating:  - seriously nervy and good
This is a book I wish I'd written. Since I didn't, I'll settle for reading it (three times so far). It's nervy, urban (but accessible to me, who grew up on the edge of cornfields), funny as hell, and has language sharp and bright as glass. There's no pretention here, and there's a real ground-level view of city life, personal life, and politics made personal. Alternately gorgeous, funny, politically subtle but profound. Also very solidly crafted.
Rating: - Fried's macho poems enchant and vervify
With all due respect, are these other reviewers clouded by hormones, fashionably scornful, or just full of popsicles? Come ON! Daisy Fried is one of the most original voices to hit the planet. Who does she sound like? Nobody! She is the champ of anti-chick poems, writing unsentimentally about what girls care about; she is the original combo plate, truly funny and truly feeling at once. The sound of her work is rhythmic, musical; she's got the beat of real life underneath it all. She SEES and ... Read More
Rating:  - So so
Poems leave you with a daze or should when they're good like you
have been amazingly changed in a small way. These seem like they
try too hard like they are too obvious so you don't feel like that. At least I didn't. I like the use of the words, I just didn't find them clicking together in a way that made them more than just the words. I'm not a major expert or English person; somebody gave me this. So some of what other people are saying goes over my head. But I guess I shouldn't have ... Read More
Rating: - huh?
I have this book, which I recommend, and when I saw the review below, I couldn't figure out what this reviewer was talking about. I looked up the poem he/she bases her whole criticism on, which is called "Romance Novel," and the reviewer has quoted it wrong. Does he/she need new reading glasses? The phrase is "the industrial laundry's heady bleach/dizz seeped into the gray-gold street," not "eeped." I don't know why a single word would make somebody hate a book of poetry anyway, but whatever. I think ... Read More
Rating:  - don't bother
don't waste your time reading this collection because there is nothing fresh or worthwhile within these pages. here's an example:
The industrial laundry's heady bleach
dizz eeped into the gray gold street I
walked alone. As if a bird formed it-
self out of my breastbone and flew off. As
if I walked through stands of blasted cedars
shaking down sapped drops of leftover rain
from prehistoric crooks and limb lops-
Breast. Mouth. Thigh. Zipper. Cream.
Read More
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