This is a compilation of favorite poems taken from the annual Best American Poetry series, covering 1988 to 2013.
Like all poetry collections, in this most subjective corner of literature, I found many brilliant gems, some indifferent stones and a few lumps of coal. For instance, and I say this without regret, I will never ever get John Ashbery.
Nevertheless, there are moments of lofty grace and true wonder sprinkled throughout this book, and I am also bemused by the fact that there can suddenly be a whole string of brilliant poems and then a string of mediocre ones, when they've been arranged strictly by last name.
I also seems to me that the gender balance in this collection is too male, but thus the world.
Here is just one of my favorites, a truly sweet, truly American poem.
American Twilight
Charles Wright
Why do I love the sound of children’s voices in unknown games
So much on a summer’s night,
Lightning bugs lifting heavily out of the dry grass
Like alien spacecraft looking for higher ground,
Darkness beginning to sift like coffee grains
over the neighborhood?
Whunk of a ball being kicked,
Surf-suck and surf-spill from traffic along the by-pass,
American twilight,
Venus just lit in the third heaven,
Time-tick between “Okay, let’s go,” and “This earth is not my home.”
Why do I care about this? Whatever happens will happen
With or without us,
with or without these verbal amulets.
In the first ply, in the heaven of the moon, a little light,
Half-light, over Charlottesville.
Trees reshape themselves, the swallows disappear, lawn sprinklers do the wave.
Nevertheless, it’s still summer: cicadas pump their boxes,
Jack Russell terriers, as they say, start barking their heads off,
And someone, somewhere, is putting his first foot, then the second,
Down on the other side,
no hand to help him, no tongue to wedge its weal.