Books like The Wild Iris

I had a Creative Writing teacher who asked me once if I would like anyone other than myself to read my poetry. When I answered, “Yes,” she advised me to make the suffering in my poems more universal and less personal. Poetry is obviously personal, but she explained to me that, if I had a husband named “Dick” who beat me, it would be more effective to describe the blows from his hands or the degradation of the act or the hopelessness of my situation rather than to write specifically about “Dick” and how much I hated him. You can still write about the pain of your personal suffering, but in a way that others can relate to your situation.It was excellent advice, and it helped my poetry immensely.I only wish that Ms. Gluck had received the same advice before she published this collection.Just for the record, I recently gave a later work of Ms. Gluck's (October), a five star review. I found it poignant, and (here's the important part) relatable.Relatable. Poetry, at least for me, must be relatable. This collection, The Wild Iris, is too arcane. The greatest example: who is you? She speaks to you, throughout the entire collection. But, you know, not you. But you. I know that this you isn't me. So. . . is it God? Her lover? Her parent? Her child? Her inner self?Is the you shifting? Is it the same you throughout? And, what's this:You wanted to be born; I let you be born.When has my grief ever gotten in the way of your pleasure?. . . never imagining the sound of my voiceas anything but part of you--you won't hear it in the other world,not clearly again,not in birdcall or human cryWho wanted to be born? Who was birthed? Why will the person not hear her birdcall again?? And, why does she keep speaking as though she's a bird? Who's the bird? Why are there so many birds??No disrespect, but I'm an emotional gal, and nothing happened here for me. Not a single tear, not a chuckle, not a smile. No universal suffering in this collection. Well, not unless you're a bird.