Poetry, Puzzles, and Simplicity: A Journey Through ‘Dearly’ by Margaret Atwood
“I do not want to share him with her. I do not want to share, like the only child I am. He fathered four only children. I am the eldest of those four. We each live in the shadow of our mothers, sheltered by them, jealously guarded by them, each with a story of our own neglect and love. My story is all I have.”
One thing I’m sure of is that when I picked up Dearly: New Poems by Margaret Atwood from my favorite app, Libby, I didn’t know it was a poetry collection. You’d think, how could I miss that? It’s basically in the title. But in my defense, it wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the app. It was simply called Dearly.
Poetry has always been a hit or miss for me. Sometimes it’s too deep. Other times, too simple. Saying that now, maybe I should just stay away from it. But sometimes, I love the challenge. There’s something really satisfying about needing to sit with what you’ve read, letting it unfold slowly. It keeps you engaged. It gives you time to think and reflect. I enjoy puzzle games, and poetry often feels like a difficult puzzle to me.
Some of the themes in this collection revolve around memory, femininity, love, and family. The poems are simple, direct. Very few truly reached out to me. One that caught my attention early on was “Feather.” It reminded me how brutal art can be. How beauty is so often recognized only after the artist is gone. I liked the imagery. It was interesting to read, considering Atwood's involvement in the world of birds. She is a fierce, protective voice. Her ability to blend real-life issues into metaphors involving her interests made it all the more engaging.
My fiancé also helped me figure out what kind of poetry I tend to enjoy: grief, death, and anything leaning into the dark side. I do like happy poems too. But there’s something about the darker ones that feels like they shine light on things we usually avoid. I like that. I understand that many of Atwood’s greatest works deal directly with the darkest parts of the human experience, and the possibilities it could reach, but I just did not find myself connecting to many of her poems. Perhaps I prefer a more literal description of my darkness.
Nevertheless, Atwood showed here that simplicity can be beautiful. Her directness in this collection didn’t just confirm her skill as a writer. It reminded me that poetry doesn’t need to be complicated to be powerful.