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Selected Poems, 1963-1983
Book by Simic, Charles
- GenresPoetry
229 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1985
2 people are currently reading
133 people want to read
About the author
Charles Simic
256 books471 followersU.S. Poet Laureate, 2007-2008
Dušan Charles Simic was born in Belgrade, former Yugoslavia, on May 9, 1938. Simic’s childhood was complicated by the events of World War II. He moved to Paris with his mother when he was 15; a year later, they joined his father in New York and then moved to Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago, where he graduated from the same high school as Ernest Hemingway. Simic attended the University of Chicago, working nights in an office at the Chicago Sun Times, but was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1961 and served until 1963.
Simic is the author of more than 30 poetry collections, including The World Doesn’t End: Prose Poems (1989), which received the Pulitzer Prize; Jackstraws (1999); Selected Poems: 1963-2003 (2004), which received the International Griffin Poetry Prize; and Scribbled in the Dark (2017). He is also an essayist, translator, editor, and professor emeritus of creative writing and literature at the University of New Hampshire, where he taught for over 30 years.
Simic has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, the Academy of American Poets, and the National Endowment for the Arts. His other honors and awards include the Frost Medal, the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets, and the PEN Translation Prize. He served as the 15th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, and was elected as Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2001. Simic has also been elected into the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
Dušan Charles Simic was born in Belgrade, former Yugoslavia, on May 9, 1938. Simic’s childhood was complicated by the events of World War II. He moved to Paris with his mother when he was 15; a year later, they joined his father in New York and then moved to Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago, where he graduated from the same high school as Ernest Hemingway. Simic attended the University of Chicago, working nights in an office at the Chicago Sun Times, but was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1961 and served until 1963.
Simic is the author of more than 30 poetry collections, including The World Doesn’t End: Prose Poems (1989), which received the Pulitzer Prize; Jackstraws (1999); Selected Poems: 1963-2003 (2004), which received the International Griffin Poetry Prize; and Scribbled in the Dark (2017). He is also an essayist, translator, editor, and professor emeritus of creative writing and literature at the University of New Hampshire, where he taught for over 30 years.
Simic has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, the Academy of American Poets, and the National Endowment for the Arts. His other honors and awards include the Frost Medal, the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets, and the PEN Translation Prize. He served as the 15th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, and was elected as Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2001. Simic has also been elected into the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
April 20, 2014
Just reread and I firmly believe that Simic deserves to be in the pantheon of great 20th century poets.
July 30, 2012
I return to this book again and again.
March 21, 2013
- إلى القاريء
ألا تسمعني
أضرِبُ جدارَكَ
برأسـي؟
طبعاً تسمعني
فلماذا
لا تجيبني؟
أضرب برأسك
جهتك من الجدار
و آنسـني.
ألا تسمعني
أضرِبُ جدارَكَ
برأسـي؟
طبعاً تسمعني
فلماذا
لا تجيبني؟
أضرب برأسك
جهتك من الجدار
و آنسـني.
June 28, 2020
How to describe Simic’s poetry? Take one of the great Dutch painters like Rembrandt, and using his dark tones and realistic portrayals, paint the background in the style of Salvador Dali’s “Persistence Of Memory,” and arranged with the touch of Picasso.
For some they’ll come out of this like, Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”. But is that not what thinking outside the box and creating a ‘new’ style, is all about? Simic’s poems must be read slowly to allow the various colors to flow into this conflagration that bursts into a strange inferno. Taking ordinary objects or scenes from daily life, Simic twists them with almost sinister outlook, making the readers slam on the invisible mental brakes and try to figure out what the Edgar Allan Poe is going on.
Born in the former country of Yugoslavia and having to immigrate to the United States after the Second World War, it is possible to see the displaced reality emanate in his poetry, yet for some, they might ask what role did the 1963-1983 play in shaping the style of Simic?
Overall Simic’s poems forces the unconventional view on conventional scenes and objects, and questions what confines of poetry? Wild sprays of paint splatter on this canvas, and in a way they make sense, yet in a way they force you to question your own thoughts.
3/5 stars
For some they’ll come out of this like, Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”. But is that not what thinking outside the box and creating a ‘new’ style, is all about? Simic’s poems must be read slowly to allow the various colors to flow into this conflagration that bursts into a strange inferno. Taking ordinary objects or scenes from daily life, Simic twists them with almost sinister outlook, making the readers slam on the invisible mental brakes and try to figure out what the Edgar Allan Poe is going on.
Born in the former country of Yugoslavia and having to immigrate to the United States after the Second World War, it is possible to see the displaced reality emanate in his poetry, yet for some, they might ask what role did the 1963-1983 play in shaping the style of Simic?
Overall Simic’s poems forces the unconventional view on conventional scenes and objects, and questions what confines of poetry? Wild sprays of paint splatter on this canvas, and in a way they make sense, yet in a way they force you to question your own thoughts.
3/5 stars
June 22, 2018
Some of his best work, these words will linger on with me..
June 30, 2023
idk why I’ve never heard of this guy before wtf
September 18, 2023
will be coming back to this over and over
April 22, 2012
I have never read Simic's poems, so this volume that spans much of his career gives a fairly good overview of his work. Arranged chronologically with selections from his anthologies, it gives the reader an idea of the styles and concerns of the different stages in his career. Often accused of being repetitive or stagnant, some critics have pointed out that there is little development in Simic's poetry and that the later poems read like the ones written earlier in his career, and not as well-crafted. Harsh criticism for any writer.
I felt that the earlier poems like "Stone", "Butcher Shop" and "Fork" read like meditations on inanimate objects, which invariably seek a deeper significance to them. For example, in 'Stone', the speaker seems to marvel at the imperceptibility connoted in "From outside the stone is a riddle.../ Yet within, it must be cool and quiet", and wondering at the way "sparks fly out/ When two stones are rubbed", which suggests "it is not so dark inside after all". In comparison to the peacekeeping "doves" or anger that "gnash with a tiger's tooth", the tranquility of the stone what can sink "unperturbed" when it is thrown into the water, and with "just enough light", suggests a balance in moderation that the persona is longing for. No grand gestures needed; only silent reflection.
Other poems like "The Writings of the Mystics" critique the romanticism of finding the sacred in the ordinary and mundane. The book the persona hoards excitedly celebrates the "presentiment/ Of a higher existence/ In things familiar and drab...", and the reader is simultaneously made aware of the very prosaic setting the persona is in, nonetheless made "hushed, and otherworldly", in a self-reflexive manner. "Shelley", too, seem to touch on this theme. For example, Simic revels in the lyricism of Shelley's poems, that "spoke of a mad, blind, dying king; / Of rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know; /Of graves from which a glorious Phantom may /Burst to illumine our tempestuous day", only to compare that with the prosaic image of "Going to have my dinner/ In a Chinese restaurant I knew so well", where the only thing vaguely romantic and fantastical is "a three-fingered waiter", which totally smashes the grand imagery of the previous lines, making it look almost hyperbolic and absurd.
I felt that the later poems reflected a deeper awareness of the failure of language to reflect experience, for example in "The Old World", where the persona acknowledges that "There was something/ Long before there were words". There is also heightened concern with appearance vs reality, e.g. in "The Friends of Heraclitus", where it reads "The world we see in our heads/ And the world we see daily,/ So difficult to tell apart/ When grief and sorrow bow us over", which also reflects a world weariness with trying to seek meaning, where "Nothing is what it seems to be,/ Nor are we" in "Blood Orange".
Simic grapples with the mutability of life, as well as its imperceptibility, but nonetheless continues to seek some answers, , as he asks of the trees in "The Secret Doctrine". "What did they say? / What did they say? / I went badgering / Every tree and brush". There may not be any answers, but the thing is to keep asking.
I felt that the earlier poems like "Stone", "Butcher Shop" and "Fork" read like meditations on inanimate objects, which invariably seek a deeper significance to them. For example, in 'Stone', the speaker seems to marvel at the imperceptibility connoted in "From outside the stone is a riddle.../ Yet within, it must be cool and quiet", and wondering at the way "sparks fly out/ When two stones are rubbed", which suggests "it is not so dark inside after all". In comparison to the peacekeeping "doves" or anger that "gnash with a tiger's tooth", the tranquility of the stone what can sink "unperturbed" when it is thrown into the water, and with "just enough light", suggests a balance in moderation that the persona is longing for. No grand gestures needed; only silent reflection.
Other poems like "The Writings of the Mystics" critique the romanticism of finding the sacred in the ordinary and mundane. The book the persona hoards excitedly celebrates the "presentiment/ Of a higher existence/ In things familiar and drab...", and the reader is simultaneously made aware of the very prosaic setting the persona is in, nonetheless made "hushed, and otherworldly", in a self-reflexive manner. "Shelley", too, seem to touch on this theme. For example, Simic revels in the lyricism of Shelley's poems, that "spoke of a mad, blind, dying king; / Of rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know; /Of graves from which a glorious Phantom may /Burst to illumine our tempestuous day", only to compare that with the prosaic image of "Going to have my dinner/ In a Chinese restaurant I knew so well", where the only thing vaguely romantic and fantastical is "a three-fingered waiter", which totally smashes the grand imagery of the previous lines, making it look almost hyperbolic and absurd.
I felt that the later poems reflected a deeper awareness of the failure of language to reflect experience, for example in "The Old World", where the persona acknowledges that "There was something/ Long before there were words". There is also heightened concern with appearance vs reality, e.g. in "The Friends of Heraclitus", where it reads "The world we see in our heads/ And the world we see daily,/ So difficult to tell apart/ When grief and sorrow bow us over", which also reflects a world weariness with trying to seek meaning, where "Nothing is what it seems to be,/ Nor are we" in "Blood Orange".
Simic grapples with the mutability of life, as well as its imperceptibility, but nonetheless continues to seek some answers, , as he asks of the trees in "The Secret Doctrine". "What did they say? / What did they say? / I went badgering / Every tree and brush". There may not be any answers, but the thing is to keep asking.
September 15, 2010
How could Simic not be good? His poems are funny and tight and sometimes beautiful, but often they were like a hard elbow next to you, making you look at something ridiculous.
...I am on a street corner
Where I shouldn't be.
Alone and coatless
I have gone out to look
For a black dog who answers to my whistle.
I have a kind of halloween mask
which I am afraid to put on. (Empire of Dreams, p 137)
But as for the middle of the book, oh Charles. One after another. These are the years of your life, I guess. Somebody died, didn't they? Somebody told you to stop writing about death, didn't they. Somebody told you about love and you laughed and later you regretted laughing. I don't know, Charles. I'm just guessing.
But I'm happy to report that I laughed too. Throughout the book. I laughed or did a little half-laugh when I got tired and sometimes I wished there was somebody in the room to listen to the poem when I read it again, aloud.
...I am on a street corner
Where I shouldn't be.
Alone and coatless
I have gone out to look
For a black dog who answers to my whistle.
I have a kind of halloween mask
which I am afraid to put on. (Empire of Dreams, p 137)
But as for the middle of the book, oh Charles. One after another. These are the years of your life, I guess. Somebody died, didn't they? Somebody told you to stop writing about death, didn't they. Somebody told you about love and you laughed and later you regretted laughing. I don't know, Charles. I'm just guessing.
But I'm happy to report that I laughed too. Throughout the book. I laughed or did a little half-laugh when I got tired and sometimes I wished there was somebody in the room to listen to the poem when I read it again, aloud.
August 14, 2007
the pages of my book are yellow and torn. i carried this book with me everywhere i went when i was an undergraduate. there are also 2 traffic tickets wedged in the pages which i used as a bookmark at one time or another (the tickets are from 2001 -- expired inspection and no insurance). the cover has faded to a brownish off-white. some of the pages are stained with water marks. all signs of love, and how much this collection has meant to me over the years.
October 12, 2015
Es uno de los mejores libros de poesía que he leído. Algunos poemas son incomprensibles para mi, pero la mayoría tienen una profundidad desgarradora. Lo recomiendo mucho, sobre todo su poema "el mundo"
December 21, 2010
a girl stripped to the waist is the first and last miracle
Read
July 28, 2011Wow. I'm not much of a poetry person, but I sure appreciated these poems. Many clever observations, unusual perspectives, and incredible language choices.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews