Shortlisted for the 2002 National Book Award in Poetry. Following her stringent and much-acclaimed Kyrie , finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, Ellen Bryant Voigt now examines more intimately the ordeals and exaltations of everyday life. Nature, both fierce and benign, infuses this collection, furthering "an art at once ravishing and stern and deeply human" (American Academy of Arts and Letters).
"The summer field, sun-fed, mutable,/ has its many tasks; the winter field/ becomes its adjective" (22)
"thousand last vast blue cloud-blemished skies" (28)
"below the pines in the soft trash of the forest floor" (34)
"The slim, successive cars like vertebrae" (38)
"wrinkle coming toward me in the grass-- no" (49)
"through perfected scorn, cruising the porch where I sat/ hullings in a china bowl-- sometimes/ the world looks back" (59)
"I think thinking is not/ the body's job/ that the body gets in the way" (60)
"mine/ is the one on the left,/ enlarged by superstition/ and music, like my father's more/ myopic eye./ Detachment is my friend's/ discovery, what he commends/ against despair...And the years bring their own correction:/ to see a thing/ one has to push it away" (61)
"clusters of white blossoms/ with yellow throats" (62)
"taking a turn in the light of our attention, T-shirt" (82)
"I'm bringing you a sun, a children's choir, host/ of transient voices, first bright/ splash in the gray exhausted world, a feast/ of the dooryard flower we call butter-and-egg" (87)
This spring, I stopped by to visit my favorite English professor before he retired, and he gifted me several books, including this poetry compilation, when we said goodbye. I've been savoring these poems, a few at a time, during the kids' orchestra rehearsals. I'm not always fond of contemporary poetry, and this is the first Voigt I've read (unless we read her in a modern American lit class 18 years ago, and I'd forgotten). I found this collection accessible and relatable. I found myself gasping with wonder at a few exquisite phrases, and some of her images have been lingering with me for weeks. I would read more of her work.
Exquisite, gorgeous, knockout poems. The precision of attention and description, coupled with emotional richness/restraint. And the elegy for Larry Levis gutted me.