Charles Simic, Jackstraws, poems: This collection of new poems paints exquisite and shattering word pictures that lend meaning to a chaotic world, uniting the solemn with the absurd. Simic continues to startle with images of the ethereal, fantastic visions of the everyday, and moments full of humor and heartache. (FSG)
1. It’s so much easier to get further from home than nearer that all men become travelers. 2. Of all the ways to avoid living, perfect discipline is the most admired. 3. Idolaters of the great need to believe that what they love cannot fail them, adorers of camp, kitsch, trash that…
road sign at the edge of town A blue part that is remembered, not a member of the class of prosthetic memories but still a leg up, a boost giving a glimpse over the wall of exile, to a blue that is remarkable and lovely for a garbage can: an aisle of blue garbage cans…
Gerald Stern, Last Blue, poems: A statement from Stern himself illuminates the focus of his outstanding twelfth collection: “Light vs. darkness has always been one of my themes, but now more than ever. Not only is this the root-and metaphor-for all the major religions, but the almost biological frame of reference for humans. With me,…
So the question becomes—no offense— are men wolves or are men slop? Because my heart is definitely a pig. Each boy sings like a halfwit alone in a barn: Little pig heart, little pig heart, let me in. Oh yes, those farm boys let loose to form cities have a way with words. My whiskered…
R: A special present for my birthday? How sweet of you. But what are you thinking of? T: Rather than some trinket, beaded out of flashy stones, a living gift. R: A living gift! One that grows on me? T: Exactly. A present, out of all our past, to keep you constant company. R: Good!…
Mark Strand, The Weather of Words: Poetic Invention, essays: A brilliant and witty collection of writings on the art and nature of poetry, exploring the relationship between photographs and poems, the eternal lyric, old forms, and an alphabet of influences. (Knopf)
When something irks you, let your anger build— Don’t spend it in a temporary snit. Don’t leave your smallest passion unfulfilled. “Let bygones be bygones,” say the weak-willed. Ha! Watch where a bygone goes, and bottle it. Appreciate your anger. Let it build Vast caves of vintage rage, best when chilled. Invest in every wrong…
May 24 A shake erupts, a self-guffaw. Some miles up, he reads a life, detailed with his own, by drugstore specs on a wasp-boy’s cord. His focus is keen, a screen. Elated as he gets in this fake air, the book’s a scream. Another shake. Across his aisle, two toddlers shriek strange alphabets and wail;…
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