By Debora Greger
From the name poem:
pink as useless shrimp, the unborn curls in its tide pool--seed pearl
whose mom lusters over irritant love it's too past due to dislodge;
little anemone, shrinking from contact. So and holds separate what it such a lot heavily binds.
"Ms. Greger's poems ensue on the aspect of stumble upon among the brain and the realm of topic. . . . And it's the resistance of the true and the expanding urgency the poet feels in attempting to extinguish her solitude . . . that make those poems emotional."--The manhattan occasions ebook Review
Originally released in 1985.
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"In an interview with invoice Moyers, Adrienne wealthy reviews that the identify poem of her 1991 quantity, An Atlas of the tough international, "reflects at the situation of my nation, which I wrote very consciously as a citizen poet, the geography, the heritage, the folk of my country" (345). the categorical occasion that led wealthy to write down a poem in regards to the current situation of the U.S. used to be the Persian Gulf conflict of 1991, which on a distinct celebration she describes because the first Bush administration's ploy to distract humans from family "anger and despair" ("I take place to Think" 33). "An Atlas of the tough World" is a longer inquiry into the character of patriotism in time of war—as wealthy says within the poem: "I am bent on fathoming what it capability to like my country" (Atlas 22). It features as either geography and historical past, delivering a wide ranging view of Eighties and early Nineteen Nineties America—the "difficult world" of the title—haunted by means of the contradictory legacies of freedom and oppression, idealism and materialism, democracy and capitalism. Like Whitman, whose attribute innovations of catalogue and anecdote she borrows in her poem, wealthy acknowledges the nice promise of the United States, but additionally recognizes its unfavorable parts. Like Muriel Rukeyser, the second one vital precursor within the poem, she takes her readers on a street journey to locations they another way might by no means chance to discover. Approximating in size T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land, or even together with a few endnotes, "An Atlas of the tough World" bargains an image of present-day the US in a country of trouble which, wealthy hopes, can however be reversed and resolved. "
"Good poems are triumphs over the unlikely," Stephen Dunn says. "They make us beware in new methods. " In his moment new and chosen assortment, Dunn subtly enlarges our feel of threat. His new poems, suffused with affection and rue for our international, sometimes tackle the metaphysical, as in those lines—
from “Talk to God”Ease into your misgivingsAsk him if in his weaknesshe was once ever responsiblefor a pettiness—some climate, say,brought in to teach who’s bosswhen nobody appeared sufficiently movedby a sundown or the form of an egg. Ask him if while he gave us desirehe had underestimated its energy.
This can be the single imperative choice of Pessoa's Caeiro heteronym in English, and the poems are followed through the introductions of Ricardo Reis and a memoir through Álvaro de Campos, of Pessoa's different significant poetic heteronyms, in addition to a poem devoted to Caeiro via Coelho Pacheco, believed by way of many commentators to be one other one-off heteronym.
This publication is a facsimile reprint and will comprise imperfections corresponding to marks, notations, marginalia and incorrect pages.
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Extra resources for And (Princeton Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets) (Princeton Legacy Library)
Forgetfulness sweeps up broken flower pots, upended cakes of dirt tipsily celebrating dry years to come, beetles feasting on abandon— as if again, beneath palms arranged in choirs, winter lettuce and voluptuous orchids grow for the mansion, the mansion that isn't there. Candles flowering in fingerbowls, pheasant breast sliced on gold-leafed platter, creamy napkin blotting reddened lips— Sister, the math is simple: in houses of the stories that offered escape from the childhood we called dull, we would have been the servants, the view from our attic room over the master's fair prospects a calendar's scene, grander lives built from engravers' cross-hatched days the way mortals appear on paper money, ageless faces just lines green as the lawns their gardeners rolled, as the limes they had pleached down the path to the mausoleum.
Beneath an entrance ramp to nothing but unetched lanes of sky, a skater cuts between cars through shadow's pilings. To dodge, to touch—feather breaking air bubbles so acid can bite, or ribbon of shade tying hands apart—without irony, on love's lasting, optimistic as this city where what's built wrong goes down to earthquake, mudslide, wrecking ball before age has its chance. Full sleeves tied back, as he etched with the needle what he remembered, reversed, he spoke to the plate the anthology of decay.
Their side of the discreet hedge, neighbors follow suit. Along summer evenings, you'll hear air turn water—sprinklers' reliable rain, play screams of swimmers teasing the mockingbirds' copied, liquid notes. We'll sell you a sense of island, screened porch tacked to converted stables— the mansion itself has gone to tracts— from whose upper windows you can make out, over the billows of trees, a strip of Sound, not much compared to the turquoise belt of pools the neighborhood sports but if the wind is right the foghorn carries, and fog you'll have paid for—as if through it, dew beading on his brilliant shoes, on a silver tray a man would bear an invitation's white meat—you've read your Fitzgerald.