"Song of Myself" is my favorite poem. I work for the Boston Gas Company. In recent years I have discovered that poetry offers insight and inspiration that I was unable to find on my own. In 1994 I began attending the University of Massachusetts as an English major. This was looked upon by many of my coworkers as nothing less than ridiculous. I guess a ditchdigger who reads Shakespeare is still just a ditchdigger. But the invaluable lesson that I have learned is that poetry is a universal celebration that exists in everything and everybody. It has fueled my own self-esteem, and helped me to take nothing for granted.
--John Doherty, 33, Construction Worker, Braintree, Massachusetts
When I first read this poem [Philip Levine's "You Can Have It"], I realized that to be a blue-collar worker in the United States didn't mean I had to be ignorant. Since my parents only went to the eighth grade, and since, at the time, there was a real possibility that I would have to follow my father into the steel mill, this was an important discovery.
--Tim Skeen, 40, Community College Teacher, Prestonburg, Kentucky
The circle is closed, and the net
Is being hauled in. They hardly feel the cords drawing, yet they shine already.
The inevitable mass-disasters
Will not come in our time nor in our children's, but we and our children
Must watch the net draw narrower, government take all powers--or revolution, and the new government
Take more than all, add to kept bodies kept souls--or anarchy, the mass-disasters.
These things are Progress;
Do you marvel our verse is troubled or frowning, while it keeps its reason?
Or it lets go, lets the mood flow
In the manner of the recent young men into mere hysteria, splintered gleams, crackled laughter. But they are quite wrong.
There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life's end is death.
from Robinson Jeffers' "The Purse-Seine"
Despite the spit and polish given to this enterprise in the Introduction and on the dust-cover's sleeves, Robert Pinsky wanted to justify his position as our nation's poet laureate. So he asked his fellow Americans to send him their favorite poems. Some chose the expected ones ("The Road Not Taken," "Mother to Son," "Invictus," "Jabberwocky," "How Do I Love Thee?" etc.), and some choose some truly odd ones ("Hornworm: Autumn Lamentation," "Pot Roast," "Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition" etc.). It's a mixed bag, for sure.
Each poem comes with a brief note from the contributor explaining why they chose the poem and how much it means to them. Though Pinsky claims he's showing that the stereotype of Americans and poetry is inaccurate, a distinct majority of contributors are teachers or librarians. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. But Pinsky's underlying goal is to show that poetry is a vibrant force in the lives of a variety of Americans. But, as this collection attests, it doesn't seem like it is.
I also want to note the italics, font, design of this collection are less than ideal to cozy up to and enjoy. The print is too small, the font too plain. No effort is made regarding design whatsoever.
So is it worth a gander? Of course. What poems do people put forth when asked? No one suggested--or the editors ignored these entries--Yeats' "The Second Coming," Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow" or Stevens' "The Emperor of Ice Cream." We do not receive a single poem by Shelley (not even "Ozymandias") or Angelou (not even "Phenomenal Woman"), which surprised me. But we get Lycidas and Prufrock, Lady Lazarus and "Ode to a Nightingale." As I said already, it's a mixed, confusing bag. Gander it and move on. Maybe, just maybe, these Americans will proffer a poet worth looking into.