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In Cathy Song's poetry I keep recognizing my own various approaches to and avoidances of the writing job: the just claims which keep me from it, my need to hide my meaning at the same time as I reveal it, the need to go, 'deeper into the darkest room,' trying to reach 'the core of something permanent,' and what always accompanies that need—'distraction itself . . . obstacles to keep her from entering the last room,' wanting and not wanting to arrive there. . . . Houses and the imagery of houses—doors, curtains, kitchens, windows, rooms—are important in Song's work. I am tempted to think this is a natural outcome of a female take on experience, though maybe it's only my own desire for security and shelter.