Love: Poems

Rating:
Summary: Good but Corny
Review: Granted Danielle Steel is no Robert Frost. But some of her poetry is very beautiful such as Friend. All I can say if you a fan of Danielle Steel and can least appreciate some of poetry. You will give at least 3 stars.

Rating:
Summary: "Love" hurts
Review: I actually haven't read this, but on the Conan O'brien show Tina Fey took this book on and read an excerpt as part of her COMEDY! It's that bad.

Rating:
Summary: Love Love Love - NOT!!!!
Review: Love is lovely love is loving lovely is taking love is giving - I made that last poem up by myself. I do not recommend this book unless you are a hardcore danielle steel fan and then of course I recommend every ot her book by her for your collection. I found the poems to be light and tright and not out of sight and not at all full of delight. IF you are searching for good amorous poetry might I suggest Elizabeth Barret Browning or perhaps Pablo Neruda. This is a book that one might want to access if one cannot find a hallmark card good enough for one's significant other. I don't want to be harsh...but lets not call this poetry.

Rating:
Summary: A Fabulous "Love" Laugh
Review: This book is hysterical. The poetry is so bad that it's pure humor. I was with friends reading these poems aloud the other evening and everyone was laughing so hard they were crying. If you are a fan of legitimate poetry, YOU CANNOT PASS THIS UP. You'll (hopefully) never get another opportunity to laugh so hard in all of your life.

Rating:
Summary: Worse Verse Was Never Written--Ever--Promise!!!
Review: This book is, quite possibly and with little exaggeration, the worst book of poetry ever published. If you are a fan of very bad poetry, I recommend this with all of my heart. You will chuckle until your sides ache at this insipid piece of barely rhymed fluff. It isn't that the subject matter is what is objected to, heck, Byron, Keates and Shelley all wrote pages and pages about love and romance and the warm fuzzy feelings you get when that special someone looks your way. But Danielle Steele wins the prize for writing a book of poetry without really knowing what a poem is (or how one is written). Even at the outer edges of the definition of "poem," you will not find any justification for what is perpetrated here. They wouldn't even print this junk in a Hallmark card it is so bad. Go dig up a love poem you wrote for some guy or girl you liked in the third grade--Read it--Note how horrible it is and how embarrassed you would be to have it read in public today--Then don't sweat it--Because it was probably no worse and possibly much better than any poem in Steel's "Love." Another favorite poetry book of mine, "Very Bad Poetry" edited by Kathryn and Ross Petras, purports to contain the worst poem ever written in the English language. And it does. An absolute stinker. But many of the poems in Danielle Steel's "Love" book come awfully, awfully close.

Rating:
Summary: My heart whooshing toward your arms
Review: When I browsed through the "Modern American Poetry" section of my favorite National Library of Singapore branch, I happened to find this small volume wedged between - of all places - the poems of Emily Dickinson and Wallace Stevens.

Gabrielle Steel, the local press informs me, is one of the major impediments to marital bliss on this small island state where young ladies nourished on paperback romances marry young men skilled in engineering and finance. Ignorant of the writings of Ms. Steel, I went out to explore why the (male) scientific mind was considered such a bad match for the (female) romantic mind.

After perusing Ms. Steel's "Love Poems" on the double-decker bus ride back home from work, I arrived at my destination shaking with a bad case of hiccup and the muscles of my diaphragm aching. Unable to collect my thoughts after this experience, allow me to quote from a small note that I found in the book between the lines "wanting, wishing,/ hoping,/ seeing" at the bottom of page 116 and "yet frightened/ that/ you'll/ fade away ..." on top of page 117. This note, an unsent letter I suppose, will throw a softer light on the book and the condition of the (female) romantic mind than I would ever dare to do:

"Dear Bua Ya!

I miss you soooooooooo when I read "my heart/ whooshing/ toward/ your arms,/ racing/ much/ too fast,/ too free,/ as your eyes/ waltzed/ slowly/ over me."

Yet I still feel upset when I think of your shabby comment on that beautiful line "Fragments/ of two/ lives / sifted/ through/ fine wire,". No, it's not true that the only fragment of yours that could be sifted through fine wire was dandruff. What a nasty thing to say, really!

Can't you get the poetry in verses like "breakfast/ in the morning,/ with birds,/ singing,/ hearts flying,/ sun streaming/ in over scrambled eggs,"?

Don't you admire the precise description in "I watch/ the top/ of his head/ as he travels/ quickly/ downward/ into the vortex/ of the spiral/ staircase,/ running/ down,/ lightly/ like water/ down a mountainside,"? Yes I know, Swa Ku, this sarcastic friend of yours said that this reminds him of a man's head being flushed down the toilet. He's got a sick mind!

Please tell me, why don't you cherish an intriguing image like "your gentle touch/ like champagne/ in my shoe"? What's wrong with you guys? Catch no ball, do you?

Sigh!!

But I just love you so much!!! You are my "Moonlit Sunshine": "What/ do you/ do/ for me/ with me/ to me?/ You/ send/ silver/ sparkle/ thunder/ moonlit/ sunshine/ shivers/ through/ and through/ and through/ me."

Love,
Kia Su"

Danielle, I feel inspired: "I stand/ here/ alone,/ with the/ cape/ in my hand./ I flee/ not/ from battle,/ I laugh/ when/ I can."