From Publishers Weekly
Gibson ( Signs ) enters a terrain more common to fiction with this book-length poem, a lyrical saga of contemporary family life in rural Connecticut. An alcoholic lies on his deathbed while his daughters, Sarah and Jennie, gather with their mother and Sarah's daughter for their annual ritual of firing Sarah's pottery. Working within these unusual but potent boundaries, not a word is wasted. Secret after secret is revealed: a brother's drowning in childhood was due to his sister's negligence; a pregnant teenager learns that her aunt is really her mother who gave birth to her when she was a teenager. The four women do not interact directly here, and there is no dialogue; rather, readers experience their vivid interior monologues that mirror each other. "Another cry-- / it's Brook, it's Brook hurt, / I run to him, our voices one voice, hurt," Sarah thinks, while in her sister's mind: "Her cry cleaves the air. I'm brushed by her breasts as she stumbles on the rug and hurries past." Contradiction and tension are created as each woman argues within herself. Readers quickly discern the emotional subtext expressed in each woman's breath: Jennie's prose poems indicate her flat acceptance of her lot. Gibson's impressive ability with line and meter contributes greatly to the volume's success. Copyright 1993 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Booklist
This sequence of poems resembles a novel. There are secrets, we learn in the first poem, and each poem brings us closer to knowing them. The setting: Two sisters gather with their mother and the younger sister's daughter for a ceramic firing while their estranged, alcoholic father lies dying in a nearby town. The corrosive power of secrets both binds the family together and holds its members apart. As the poems--extraordinarily well crafted, conjuring clear, individual voices for their characters--progress, the secrets are stripped away, and the women find a chance for real intimacy despite, rather than because of, the family bonds. An admirable and compelling work. Pat Monaghan

From Book News, Inc.
Gibson, the author of four previous poetry collections, interweaves the voices of four women--mothers and daughters of three generations-- who, during the course of a single day, reveal the depths of the legacy of alcoholism in their family. Paper edition (unseen), $9.95. Annotation copyright Book News, Inc. Portland, Or.

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Margaret Gibson is a writer who extends the scope of poetry beyond its accustomed boundaries. Her previous work has ranged from lyric celebrations of the natural world to poems that speak out against political injustice and violence. She can turn from a creative reimagining of the life of the photographer and revolutionary Tina Modotti in Mexico to write sensuous meditations influenced by Buddhist and Christian thought. In her newest book, The Vigil, Gibson adroitly interweaves the voices of four women, mothers and daughters of three generations, who, during the course of a single day, reveal the depths of the legacy of alcoholism in their family. "There's nothing wrong here: don't tell anyone" - that has been the guiding principle of these women's lives, enmeshed in patterns of silence and denial, secrecy and lies. But on this one day of startling revelations, the full extent of the family's secrets, kept still in the sweep of years, begins to emerge. As the history of loss and regret unfolds, the women begin to sense those things within them, yet to be spoken, that have passed down from mother to daughter. In the end, we see the four women poised, however precariously, on the thresholds of trust, candor, forgiveness, and love. In The Vigil, the lyric and meditative qualities that readers have long since come to expect from the work of Margaret Gibson combine with an unexpected dramatic and narrative unity. The result is a work that is daring and accomplished, a remarkable tour de force of imagination and technical skill, a ringing affirmation of Philip Booth's earlier assessment that Gibson is "a poet profoundly empowered."

FROM THE CRITICS

Publishers Weekly

Gibson ( Signs ) enters a terrain more common to fiction with this book-length poem, a lyrical saga of contemporary family life in rural Connecticut. An alcoholic lies on his deathbed while his daughters, Sarah and Jennie, gather with their mother and Sarah's daughter for their annual ritual of firing Sarah's pottery. Working within these unusual but potent boundaries, not a word is wasted. Secret after secret is revealed: a brother's drowning in childhood was due to his sister's negligence; a pregnant teenager learns that her aunt is really her mother who gave birth to her when she was a teenager. The four women do not interact directly here, and there is no dialogue; rather, readers experience their vivid interior monologues that mirror each other. ``Another cry-- / it's Brook, it's Brook hurt, / I run to him, our voices one voice, hurt,'' Sarah thinks, while in her sister's mind: ``Her cry cleaves the air. I'm brushed by her breasts as she stumbles on the rug and hurries past.'' Contradiction and tension are created as each woman argues within herself. Readers quickly discern the emotional subtext expressed in each woman's breath: Jennie's prose poems indicate her flat acceptance of her lot. Gibson's impressive ability with line and meter contributes greatly to the volume's success. (Sept.)

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