The Gripping Novel You Need to Read Before Summer Ends (and More)
To be honest, I didn't expect much. I thought her poems might be like the watercolors some people produce when they take up painting as a late-in-life hobby. Proficient, perhaps. Charming, maybe. Not art.
Then I started reading. A few lines in, my skin began to prickle. By the time I reached the last poem, I could barely breathe. Her work was ferocious, tautly crafted, piercingly true. Freydberg was a goshawk, fierce and all-seeing. From the high crag of extreme old age, she looked down with a merciless, unblinking eye upon her own life, on the ravages of loss, the exhilarations of love: "I am bare now / Cool to the fire of sunsets / Gladly undressed of them." Freydberg died in March at age 107. But her work, collected in a book titled Poems from the Pond (edited and independently published by environmental advocate Laurie David), proves that there is no date stamp on creativity: Our masterpieces may be yet to come.