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Letters to a Stranger: Poems
The searing collection, a cult favorite for decades, by the late Thomas James I will last forever. I am not impatient— My skin will wait to greet its old complexions. I’ll lie here till the world swims back again. —from “Mummy of a Lady Named Jemutesonekh” Thomas James’s Letters to a Stranger —originally published in 1973, shortly before James’s suicide—has become one of the underground classics of contemporary poetry. In this new edition, with an introduction by Lucie Brock-Broido and four of James’s poems never before published in book form, this fraught and moving masterpiece is at last available. Letters to a Stranger is a new book in the Graywolf Poetry Re/View Series, edited by Mark Doty, dedicated to bringing essential books of contemporary American poetry back into print.
- GenresPoetry20th Century
85 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1973
5 people are currently reading
221 people want to read
About the author
Thomas James
213 books7 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
Thomas James was born in 1946 and lived most of his life in Joliet, Illinois. He was the author of Letters to a Stranger. His poetry appeared in magazines and anthologies, including North American Review, Poetry, and Poetry Northwest, which awarded him the Theodore Roethke Prize in 1969. In 1974, at the age of twenty-seven, he died shortly after the original publication of his only book.
Thomas James was born in 1946 and lived most of his life in Joliet, Illinois. He was the author of Letters to a Stranger. His poetry appeared in magazines and anthologies, including North American Review, Poetry, and Poetry Northwest, which awarded him the Theodore Roethke Prize in 1969. In 1974, at the age of twenty-seven, he died shortly after the original publication of his only book.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 33 reviews
September 2, 2014
A friend sent me the following poem by Thomas James and I immediately became interested in the poet:
I liked the poem immediately and still like it. It unfolds like a shadow play, each stanza draining the final color of “late summer” more and more and ending with very constricting images/sounds (“sheer dark,” “flat green,” “windows shut,” iron bedstead,” and “stone-cold mirror”) expect the final stanza which suddenly blooms with this final image of “arms are full of lilies.” I thought this was a new, young poet who I could be one of the first to discover. I quickly found out that, in fact, he was a young poet who died very young in the 70s having only published one volume of poetry and that volume had something of an underground cult following among certain poetry readers and had only been reissued a few years back after being out of print for several decades. I was a bit surprised to have never heard of him before since I pride myself on being a rather well-read reader of contemporary poetry, but it’s a large field with lots of room for new discoveries popping up all the time.
When I finally got a copy of the volume, I was expecting to be an instant convert to this cult following; unfortunately, while I do admire a few individual poems and some lines/stanzas within a number of other poems, overall the volume of poems James published is so heavily influenced by Sylvia Plath that it becomes overwhelmed by (and even derivative of) Plath. So insistent is the influence that you can practically pair up certain poems with Plath’s and map where James was getting his impetus to write particular poems (i.e. James’ “Carnations” is something of a pale version “Tulips;” his “Hunting for Blueberries” to her “Blackberrying;” his “Mummy of a Lady Named Jemutesonekh” to her “Lady Lazarus;” and on and on….) The overall volume is macabre and obsessed with death—James typically situates his poems in emergency room, hospitals, morgues and populates them with murder victims, suicides, the emotionally and psychologically disturbed. But a more damaging aspect of Plath’s influence on James is how she dominates the rhythm of his poems. Here is the beginning to her poem, “Elm”:
And here is a part of James’ poem “The Moonstone”:
For me, the pacing and even the phrasing of so much James’ poetry is simply a continuation of reading Ariel. I completely understand the seductive quality of Plath to especially young poets – she has a unique way of blending assonance and consonance with an almost commercial jingle while exploring emotions and moods that tend to choke other poets (rage, disgust, jealousy.) For James, there is more of just an overwhelming sense of dreariness and dread that pervade the poems without the sometimes teeth-grinding humor you find in Plath.
When James does try to shake off the hold of Plath on his style, he more often than not sounds like Anne Sexton from her Live or Die period:
I find this unfortunate, especially because there are hints of a different direction where James may have followed a more “deep imagist” tradition that has an almost surrealist quality to it that lifts it out of the shadow of Plath; in a poem called “No Music” that seems to take place once again in a hospital setting of some sort, he ends it with this image:
I think that final line is the type of direction James struggles to arrive at in most of the poems, but is too often taking his cue from Plath to really arrive at such a fortunate image. I think there is much to learn from this by young poets as a first book, but I do hope the idea of his having a cult-like quality doesn’t fall into the all too often same status that Plath has especially over young woman (and apparently over James as well) – that in order to validate oneself as an artist/poet, one must seriously contemplate negating oneself through suicide to demonstrate how seriously the poetic enterprise is to that young poet. That is the opposite of creation, in my opinion, and not worthy of any cult like devotion whatsoever.
“Waterlilies”
Late summer. This morning, before I woke,
Waterlilies broke open,
Supposing themselves out of the sheer dark.
I walk at the pond’s edge. Leaves have grown
Bitter with age in the shallow wet.
Bronze is asserting itself in the flat green.
All morning these petals come up white
As my sister, flowering in childbirth
In the east room where they keep the windows shut;
And the bed is a pondful of lilies suddenly budded
In a blacked-out room in late summer.
The sun rises by itself at the iron bedstead.
I watch the pond losing its brandy color
Where lilies bob in the last heat of summer,
Duplicating themselves on the stone-cold mirror;
The house rises in a thick welter of trees
Out of the morning light. My sister
Wakes in the dark. Her arms are full of lilies.
I liked the poem immediately and still like it. It unfolds like a shadow play, each stanza draining the final color of “late summer” more and more and ending with very constricting images/sounds (“sheer dark,” “flat green,” “windows shut,” iron bedstead,” and “stone-cold mirror”) expect the final stanza which suddenly blooms with this final image of “arms are full of lilies.” I thought this was a new, young poet who I could be one of the first to discover. I quickly found out that, in fact, he was a young poet who died very young in the 70s having only published one volume of poetry and that volume had something of an underground cult following among certain poetry readers and had only been reissued a few years back after being out of print for several decades. I was a bit surprised to have never heard of him before since I pride myself on being a rather well-read reader of contemporary poetry, but it’s a large field with lots of room for new discoveries popping up all the time.
When I finally got a copy of the volume, I was expecting to be an instant convert to this cult following; unfortunately, while I do admire a few individual poems and some lines/stanzas within a number of other poems, overall the volume of poems James published is so heavily influenced by Sylvia Plath that it becomes overwhelmed by (and even derivative of) Plath. So insistent is the influence that you can practically pair up certain poems with Plath’s and map where James was getting his impetus to write particular poems (i.e. James’ “Carnations” is something of a pale version “Tulips;” his “Hunting for Blueberries” to her “Blackberrying;” his “Mummy of a Lady Named Jemutesonekh” to her “Lady Lazarus;” and on and on….) The overall volume is macabre and obsessed with death—James typically situates his poems in emergency room, hospitals, morgues and populates them with murder victims, suicides, the emotionally and psychologically disturbed. But a more damaging aspect of Plath’s influence on James is how she dominates the rhythm of his poems. Here is the beginning to her poem, “Elm”:
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root:
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?
And here is a part of James’ poem “The Moonstone”:
Who has the answer? Is it in the geranium pots,
Their little flares igniting the parlor walls?
Perhaps the stable boy has found it
In a crumbling haystack washed in drops of dew.
A filmy light moves in the eyes of horses
Whose backs are rippling in the morning vapors.
For me, the pacing and even the phrasing of so much James’ poetry is simply a continuation of reading Ariel. I completely understand the seductive quality of Plath to especially young poets – she has a unique way of blending assonance and consonance with an almost commercial jingle while exploring emotions and moods that tend to choke other poets (rage, disgust, jealousy.) For James, there is more of just an overwhelming sense of dreariness and dread that pervade the poems without the sometimes teeth-grinding humor you find in Plath.
When James does try to shake off the hold of Plath on his style, he more often than not sounds like Anne Sexton from her Live or Die period:
Oh, Christ, you are so very far away.
Your hands are full of broken glass,
And I am too small to measure your imperfect gifts.
I drink from your slender veins.
You are falling water.
I suck at your throat,
Stroking the tender blossoms of your hands.
(“Wine”)
I find this unfortunate, especially because there are hints of a different direction where James may have followed a more “deep imagist” tradition that has an almost surrealist quality to it that lifts it out of the shadow of Plath; in a poem called “No Music” that seems to take place once again in a hospital setting of some sort, he ends it with this image:
It is impossible to move in all that white.
Your face is a blossom thickening to anonymity,
Erasing its features in a surge of downiness.
One dark hand buds and loses its distinction.
The light bruises and steps out of the room.
I think that final line is the type of direction James struggles to arrive at in most of the poems, but is too often taking his cue from Plath to really arrive at such a fortunate image. I think there is much to learn from this by young poets as a first book, but I do hope the idea of his having a cult-like quality doesn’t fall into the all too often same status that Plath has especially over young woman (and apparently over James as well) – that in order to validate oneself as an artist/poet, one must seriously contemplate negating oneself through suicide to demonstrate how seriously the poetic enterprise is to that young poet. That is the opposite of creation, in my opinion, and not worthy of any cult like devotion whatsoever.
June 7, 2013
I read this mostly on trains. It was difficult to do because I felt pulled open by the book at every turn. And so strange to have that happen in public.
January 5, 2011
Really want to give this 3.5 stars... lots of good imagery and metaphor, but many of the whole poems didn't feel to me to be finished or to hold together, and the ones that did often sounded terribly derivative of both Plath (mentioned heavily in the intro) and Sexton (barely mentioned at all, but I "heard" resonance with her particularly in many of the book's later poems). Not to say there isn't originality here! It's a well-done first book, but after all the hype of Brock-Broido's introduction, I expected more. If I'd read the book without the introduction, definitely 3 stars, so the intro didn't bring my rating down, it just disappointed (and angered, with what I felt was a very romantic view of suicide). James seemed clearest and strongest to me in his poems that use animals: Frog, Dissecting a Pig, Lambs, and Timothy. This is a book I'd read again, but on first read, it didn't grab me, though it's solidly done.
June 27, 2009
Letters to a Stranger starts with the quiet dream-like images of "Waking Up": "curls of dark grass," "a lake of dark petals" (p 5). The poems continue full of quiet, full of dreams and death. There are some exquisite bits early in the book, like "a few perfect flakes of snow/When the season is just breaking./They strike the water and are nothing at all" (p 14), but I wasn't too interested in these poems at first. The blank verse felt overly mannered, the subjects too dreary. But as I kept reading there kept on being more to like: the meter started to feel like grace, like just enough rather than too much, and there kept on being gorgeous images, turns of phrase. I'm not sure how much it's that the book really does get better as it progresses, and how much it was me becoming immersed in James's voice and tone, seeing his work's facets differently.
May 12, 2022
A brilliant collection that will remain close at hand! Left me breathless! Unforgettable and how the hell did I go this long without reading and knowing of Thomas James!!! Thank you, Mark Doty and Graywolf Press! DAMN EXCITED! This is a book that you never stop reading!
December 30, 2012
The first time I heard "Lady J" read aloud, I wept. I highly recommend it to those who seek to have their hearts broken by the power of words.
February 14, 2022
"Love is a wound that happens."
December 14, 2018
The fact that James died so young is sad on its own, but add to that the lost potential, and it's heartbreaking. This, his only book of poems, shows some real promise and affinity for language. But it's heavily derivative of Sylvia Plath. Just as she went through a period of emulating Roethke, he emulates her, echoing a lot of her signature imagery and themes. But before she died, she broke through with her own voice. James didn't live that long. It would be interesting to see what he might have done, what his own voice might have sounded like, if he'd been able to step away from Plath and create his own poetry.
September 27, 2023
the best Plath fanfiction ever made — but still fanfiction. at its best it’s like reading Ariel. at its worst it’s like reading a garbled, watered-down, and room temp Ariel. but in both, it is still strongly derivative
April 20, 2016
In a recent review I called the contemporary Australian novella, Disquiet, by Julia Leigh the most disturbing piece of writing I had ever encountered. I cannot fully explain the streak of dark literature that has found its way into my hands these days, but Thomas James' poetry collection Letters to a Stranger tears the superlative definitively away from Leigh - and that is not to downplay the haunting beauty of her story!
An underground cult figure of the poetic world, if you adhere to the introduction accompanying the recent Graywolf Press edition of his collection by Lucie Brock-Broido, Thomas James only published this one slim volume before committing suicide in his mid-twenties. His work emphatically reflects the tortured poet's desperate desire for death and truly the decision to take his own life comes as no surprise. The imagery washed over me, transported me and trapped me in a desperate place somewhere in between this reality and the next. Brock-Broido presents her personal affair with James' work and sheds just enough light on the obscure poet to rescue his important words from fading out of public knowledge forever. As a bonus, this edition also includes some previously uncollected material.
An underground cult figure of the poetic world, if you adhere to the introduction accompanying the recent Graywolf Press edition of his collection by Lucie Brock-Broido, Thomas James only published this one slim volume before committing suicide in his mid-twenties. His work emphatically reflects the tortured poet's desperate desire for death and truly the decision to take his own life comes as no surprise. The imagery washed over me, transported me and trapped me in a desperate place somewhere in between this reality and the next. Brock-Broido presents her personal affair with James' work and sheds just enough light on the obscure poet to rescue his important words from fading out of public knowledge forever. As a bonus, this edition also includes some previously uncollected material.
December 9, 2017
Great potential, but the majority of poems is mediocre at best. Plath and Sexton also resonate throughout the book, which is lovely, though a tad overused at times. I still like the way James centered his poems around the oneiric depths of death. Mind you, the poems should still be read. No poem is a finished piece of writing; it craves readers and meanings, one of which might just be you.
September 26, 2008
A haunting read now back in print for the first time since 1973.
The equivalent in poetry of the novel A Confederacy of Dunces -- that is, both authors died young, of suicide, after writing just one book in which the originality of their genius shines through.
The equivalent in poetry of the novel A Confederacy of Dunces -- that is, both authors died young, of suicide, after writing just one book in which the originality of their genius shines through.
October 20, 2014
This collection has haunted me since I've finished it. I've had dreams from the perspective of the narrator of a couple of the poems. It's probably not for everyone, since it deals quite a bit with death, decay and the end of things. But the language is very affecting.
November 3, 2014
Amazing collection--James' only--that brings to mind Plath and Sexton at their best. Yes, there's a tragic quality to the poems, but it doesn't interfere with their superb use of metaphor and imagery, which can actually be rather comic. This poet deserves a wider audience!
April 21, 2009
James' poems are dark, brooding, and discomfitting. I did not particular enjoy reading this book, but I deeply admire and respect the talent of Thomas James.
February 26, 2020
I found this on the same shelf in the library as Allen Ginsberg. I grabbed it on a whim.
Turns out that I like James very much. His unique use of metaphor, language pairings, and visualization all pull into sharp contrast my own style that still clings to strict realism. He's an example I'd like to follow, thought not imitate exactly. I hope his style absorbs into mine over time, much like I hope for the same with Emily Dickinson and Ron Padgett.
It takes some time to adapt to James, as with any poetry, so the first part of the book was much slower for me than the latter part. His tone changes as the book progresses, smoothing out but remaining just as cryptic.
The "uncollected" poems at the end, the ones never published before 2008, are almost entirely different from the original manuscript. They're lighter, and contain rhyming couplets. I rather liked several of them.
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Turns out that I like James very much. His unique use of metaphor, language pairings, and visualization all pull into sharp contrast my own style that still clings to strict realism. He's an example I'd like to follow, thought not imitate exactly. I hope his style absorbs into mine over time, much like I hope for the same with Emily Dickinson and Ron Padgett.
It takes some time to adapt to James, as with any poetry, so the first part of the book was much slower for me than the latter part. His tone changes as the book progresses, smoothing out but remaining just as cryptic.
The "uncollected" poems at the end, the ones never published before 2008, are almost entirely different from the original manuscript. They're lighter, and contain rhyming couplets. I rather liked several of them.
Support your local library!
October 25, 2025
I am completely blown away by these poems, full of nature and Catholic imagery, with death and illness ever-present themes. The poems' narrators are often dead themselves, in hospitals, or separated from the everyday world of the living in some way. Several reviewers have called James a Sylvia Plath imitator, but in my view, this is not accurate. I won't deny the influence, but Thomas James had his own voice, a powerful one that went quiet way too soon.
The reissue of Letters to a Stranger appends a baker's dozen uncollected poems, but the essential core remains the original sequence of poems in the book.
The reissue of Letters to a Stranger appends a baker's dozen uncollected poems, but the essential core remains the original sequence of poems in the book.
January 12, 2019
I can't help but thinking about what masterful poetry James might have written had he not ended his life at the same age as Georg Trakl - one of his favorite poets. The poems are powerful but uneven - even so they provoke a resonance with me. His Mummy poem is the most masterful in the collection but the line that stays with me is from the poem, Magadalene In the Garden: "honeycombs contain a tribe of angels". I had to write my own poem in response.
June 28, 2023
Breath-taking use of language in almost every line. A death obsession in the midst of idyllic rural imagery. James was still young when he released this book and I admit that not every effect is perfect, but the author's consistent intensity is gripping. I can see why literature students made this an underground classic for decades before it was re-released. The additional poems included at the end show him experimenting with his considerable talent as he found his themes.
September 17, 2019
This a is incredibly beautiful, but emotionally raw, poetry. I can see why this is considered a cult favorite — photocopied and handed from one aspiring poet to the next for generations when it was out of print. I can also see why this is on the bedside table of many — read and re-read. It is that good. Highly recommended.
November 7, 2023
Magnificent! Simply a joy to discover and savor! A perfect blend of surprising yet natural images tucked among mysterious and imaginative explorations of corporeality. Elusive and enticing. I only wish he wrote more.
March 14, 2020
I don't know how James made this book, half-filled with persona poems, feel like an emergency.
May 8, 2024
Perfect.
September 8, 2024
This collection blew me away. I am shocked that Thomas James is not more widely read. Brilliant poems with images that will haunt me for days.
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September 1, 2025Stunning collection.,,,what a genius James was.
December 17, 2025
The context of Jame's story makes these poems so much more rich and meaningful
June 6, 2016
"Letters to a Stranger" is a haunting collection of poetry, filled with personal anguish and dark intensities. Originally published in 1973, it inexplicably seemed to vanish until this recent reprint by Graywolf Press in 2008.
I first read "Letters to a Stranger" around the time that it was first published, and was astounded by the depth and maturity from such a young author. My own early poetry was influenced by Thomas James. His tragic suicide at the age of twenty-seven was a great loss to the world of literature.
I first read "Letters to a Stranger" around the time that it was first published, and was astounded by the depth and maturity from such a young author. My own early poetry was influenced by Thomas James. His tragic suicide at the age of twenty-seven was a great loss to the world of literature.
December 22, 2016
My suggestion would be to read all the poems first. Then go back and read the Introduction and re-visit the poems mentioned. The writer of the Introduction is so taken with this poet and her particularly favorite lines that you might not know what you liked best if you read what she has to share beforehand. Find your own favorite metaphors, the lines that take you by surprise. In spite of my fussing, I must share just one example:
"The flies were humming a tiny mass
For a cricket who had died."
"The flies were humming a tiny mass
For a cricket who had died."
December 4, 2018
10/10
Published shortly before his suicide, Thomas James’ poetry collection is perfect in every sense. It’s as luminous as a glass menagerie and forceful as a falling anvil. It somehow functions between this reality and the next, this poetry collection makes you wonder what sort of sadness and intensity was needed for its construction without ever having to wonder if you'll need to go there yourself.
Published shortly before his suicide, Thomas James’ poetry collection is perfect in every sense. It’s as luminous as a glass menagerie and forceful as a falling anvil. It somehow functions between this reality and the next, this poetry collection makes you wonder what sort of sadness and intensity was needed for its construction without ever having to wonder if you'll need to go there yourself.
August 1, 2021
4.5 This collection is an inspiration. Some of the best poems I've ever read. In some, he's trying a bit too hard to be clever (what Ocean Vuong might call weak metaphoring), but I think I marked more poems to save in this one than any other collection I've read. I just love the way he thinks, and the way he thinks about subject matter. He writes from the perspective of everything from an old woman to a frog, to a freaking Iron Maiden. Woof.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 33 reviews