A “master of the lyric poem” ( Paris Review ) at the top of his form writes indelibly of grief and love. In this moving, playful, and deeply philosophical volume, acclaimed poet Gregory Orr returns with a passionate exploration of the forces that shape us. Slipping effortlessly from personal trauma (“Song of What Happens”) to public catastrophe (“Charlottesville Elegy”), Orr seeks innovative ways for the imagination to respond to and create meaning out of painful experiences, while at the same time rejoicing in love and language. The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write confirms Orr’s place among the preeminent lyric poets of his generation, engaging the deepest existential issues with wisdom and humor and transforming them into celebratory song.
Gregory Orr was born in Albany, New York in 1947, and grew up in the rural Hudson Valley. He received a BA degree from Antioch College in 1969 and an MFA from Columbia University in 1972.
He is the author of more than ten collections of poetry, including River Inside the River: Poems (W. W. Norton, 2013); How Beautiful the Beloved (Copper Canyon Press, 2009); Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved (2005); The Caged Owl: New and Selected Poems (2002); Orpheus and Eurydice (2001); City of Salt (1995), which was a finalist for the L.A. Times Poetry Prize; Gathering the Bones Together (1975) and Burning the Empty Nests (1973).
He is also the author of a memoir, The Blessing (Council Oak Books, 2002), which was chosen by Publisher's Weekly as one of the fifty best non-fiction books the year, and three books of essays, including Poetry As Survival (2002) and Stanley Kunitz: An Introduction to the Poetry (1985). - See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/...
A true master at the height of power - inspired. Poetry can be daunting; I have many friends tell me that they avoid reading poetry because they are not 'sure if I am getting what the poet is trying to say.' Gregory Orr is one of the poets I suggest that can be read on several levels; literally and/or figuratively, yet still extremely accessible.
Orr is not afraid to dwell in sincerity and sentiment, to break his lines so that a single word isolated from its neighbors sits alone and ponderous, to get down in the muck with the big abstractions other poets shun. And this can be great. I didn't mind nodding along as Orr enthused about how relaxing on the grass is nice, but poems that end with epiphanies like "it's a dark and violent world" (the actual last words of one poem) did occasionally seem to verge on the banal and left me wanting a bit more. The two overtly topical poems ("I Don't Really Care, Do You?" and "Charlottesville Elegy"), in particular, left me craving more sharpness. The first-person speaker of this book says Emily Dickinson spoke to him in dreams and also cites Sappho as an influence, laxly paraphrasing the latter poet at length in "Lyric Revises the World" ("All around you, the guys / Jabbered on and on / About how awesome / Marching armies are..."), with the unintended result that sometimes I itched to stop reading this book and instead just reread Dickinson and Sappho with their matchless concision, taut grace, and originality of thought. Still, Orr does at times hit upon a line that is nicely pithy, e.g., when he says art's purpose is to turn "shadow into shade" or when he indicts sleazy politicians' excuse-making with these lines:
None have done wrong Who still have a tongue.
Even Cain can explain.
A couple of the poems seem to continue beyond the point where they could just as well have stopped, but "To Hart Crane" effectively leans on silence and omission to work its magic, deliberately not mentioning what we all know about the circumstances of Crane's death to make a point about the death-defying ecstasy of Crane's poetry. And sure, there are some corny moments (in a poem about vowels: "And 'u'--who / Could ever forget you? // 'I' could never. / 'Y' would I even try?"), but these are balanced out by moments that are plain lovely, e.g., in "For My Mother," one of three poems in the book that ponders the poetic potential of mondegreens:
My favorite was "Down in the Valley"-- Melancholy tune Whose refrain went: "Angels in heaven Know I love you"...
and me Still a child... mishearing That line...
As if it meant "Angels in heaven? No, I love you." Such a choice Impressed me, And even then made sense.
Gregory Orr remains a lyric poet of measured syntax and the deepest rooted imagery (as the poet Stanley Kunitz once wrote about Orr). There is clarity and precision in the use of words in his poems. Words are not wasted. Care is taken. They tell.
I think this is Orr’s strongest work since The Red House and City of Salt. I found the title of this book sadly evocative, but the poem itself with that title is pretty good, along with several poems in tribute to other poets.
By some accounts, Orr does 200 drafts of a single poem. Rather than lazy free verse that too many poets today get away with, Orr is rigorous in writing mostly stellar and lyrical poems. A demanding poet is the one to spend time with.
Vindicating the Seventies period style, Orr's dimeter pursues idiomatic speed and gem-like slowness. It's a trope for the transcendent obsolescence of the damned, whose inspirational verse comes from an "Ode to Nothing": "Nothing stands between | The abyss and you. | Nothing keeps you | From falling off | The edge. |Nothing | Is that important."
Certain poems offer me escape— They’re floating islands Anchored only By a cloud-rope of words I can climb. Some Are the opposite: Insisting on Embodiment— As if they were tattooed On the beloved’s thigh. Still others are short And sharp—arrows Aimed at the heart, As if the purpose Of beauty Was to hurt me more alive.
A wonderful collection -- my favorite of his is still Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved, but this was solid and filled with some real gems!
How often I've wished It arrived by just Sashaying in Through my senses.
But for me, love Couldn't enter Until I was broken, All the way to the center.
Right here, the blow fell-- A sledgehammer Against a wall. And so, A ragged door was made, And the beloved came to dwell.
This was a great collection, I read the whole thing in a day. The last 1/3 is not as good as the very powerful first part, but still I really enjoyed experiencing all of it. The poem above is my favorite. Another of my favorites is below--
Aftermath Sonnet
Letting my tongue sleep, And my heart go numb.
Sensing that speech Too soon, After such a wound, Would only be A different bleeding.
Even needing to leave The page blank. Long season Of silence-- Trusting that under
Its bandage of snow, The field of me is healing.
"Sensing that speech too soon, after such a wound, would only be a different bleeding" is a crazy sequence of words. Just beautiful. Would love to read more of his work.
When I closed my eyes I saw him Lying at my feet. I knew God and I were through, And after that, what is there?
This is a phenomenal collection. I love Orr's use of classical (Sappho and Anactoria!!) and modern poetry references. He presents himself not as an individual, but rather a mere part of a much larger narrative, in which lyric poetry does what philosophy cannot: present the irrational as divine. To be truthful I was floored by the majority of these, but my favourites were Dark Song, The Undertoad, Aftermath Inventory, The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write, and Inscription. Honourable mention to Charlottsville Elegy, as its served as a nice reminder that not all modern poets are completely out of touch with reality. Out of the Odes to Lyric Poets, I was struck most by #15, inspired by Du Fu. Will definitely be reading more Gregory Orr!
Themes of hunting: deer or family dying. Survivor’s guilt. What could have been. Love lost (many ways). Messages in titles or lines in different contexts.
Elated that I came upon Gregory Orr, who I will undoubtedly be reading much more of in the near future. His writing style is simultaneously lyrical and candid. Pleasantly surprised by this read - not because I expected it to be bad, but rather because I've had a dull streak reading poets I haven't jived with lately.
I have a feeling that there is a class at UVA that reads this book, and boy! do I wish I was in it. I want to dissect these in some poetry discussion course so badly. Like "An Ode to Nothing," "Still Life,"? Come on. Just from the short amount of time I've already spent rolling them around in my head, it's thrilling to think about how much more an academic discussion would bring to the table. Yes, I love school.
Reading about Charlottesville/authors from Charlottesville feels a bit like going home. It's a gift to have gotten to call it home for a season, and an extra gift to have had professors that worked to integrate us as students into the fiber of the community through readings, connections, events, assignments, videos, both assigned and unassigned. I'll also say that I had no idea when I picked this book up that Orr founded UVA's MFA program, so of course my affection for the book grew when I read that online.
Particularly interesting to me:
- "An Ode to Nothing" - I had to read this a few times to make anything of it, and even though I still don't fully understand what he means by it, some of the lines are just so compelling. EX: "When scientists tell us / Atoms are mostly / Made of nothing, / They are speaking / As priests charged / With a deep mystery: / How nothing holds / The universe together; / How nothing / Is the secret force / At the heart of it all."
- "Reading Dickinson" - "Each poem is a whorled / Shell / I hold to my ear." - Brilliant.
- "An Ode to Some Lyric Poets" - Thoroughly enjoyed this one. Particular lines I loved: (on Wilfred Owen) "He's dug / Enough trenches / To fill the entire / Twentieth century, / Yet no line is deep enough / To save a single one of us." (on Emily Dickinson) "'We are bound by words / And wonder to the world.'" (on Rimbaud) "What courage / It took-his poems / Spitting off sparks / As they raced through the dark." (from Keats) "I believe in nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of imagination." (on Hölderlin) "Better to swim / Through harm / Than ride / So high above it / That we look / Down on suffering. / You must descend, / Love said, / You must embrace / What seeks to break you." (on Virgil) "'The tears of things'- / Virgil's phrase; / As if every object / Is filled / With grief / And wants to weep."
- "How often I've wished..." - This quote, that's all: "How often I've wished / It arrived by just / Sashaying in / Through my senses. / But for me, love / Couldn't enter / Until I was broken / All the way to the center."
- "It's narrow..." - Again, this quote, and that's all: "What fool said joy / Is less risky than grief?"
- "Dark Proverbs for Dark Times" - "Remember: every fist / Began as an open hand." & "Those who praise rage / Should be made / To visit more graves."
- "Charlottesville Elegy" - Wow.
- "Still Life" - Re-read this one quite a few times. I think I've learned that my favorite kind of poem is the one that takes the existential meaning of life theme and rolls it around in its palm like a stone, noting each glint of the light against its edges, recognizing that its appearance/beauty is deeply subjective to how you look at it, and leaving you with more questions than answers (a common thread in every book I enjoy lately...here's to becoming more and more curious). Favorite lines: "Praising what you've rescued from time's blade" & "Life prefers the running water to the still..."
- "The last love poem I will ever write..." - Splendid. Magical. Unexpected.
- "Young, I took it all so..." - Splendid. Magical. Unexpected.
Some of his rhyming annoyed me, but that's probably because I don't really like rhyming poetry in general. Anyone else feel averse because it feels a little elementary? Like almost a cop-out? I know that's 100% certainly definitely unfair, but it's how it feels sometimes, regardless.
consider the first breath ever breathed and it being sent out into the world of other things breathing suddenly taking in some of what was pushed out. and if in continuing we make an agreement that some of what goes is also some of what stays
and if that is in the essence of smoke of particular birch or maple or gun smoke say all those years later we breath it in and trigger our first breath of it how if for Gregory Orr that gun smoke is the shape and smell of his little brother eight years of age face turned into the shell of his sweat-
shirt hood forever and the shot that killed him lost in some distant leafless tree. Poor Gregory. Poor Peter. Please
if you ever read this book walk out into the trees and see these boys still able to make shadows on the long grasses and run as boys run the both of them parallel to the trauma that has paused when the gun isn't (hold on) fired.
These poems relish in the simple pleasures, observations, quandaries, and intersections that have a nuanced depth and transcend the 'simple' category. Orr presents a sense of self-awareness that is reflexive, humble, and unconcerned with others' judgments or views -- the freedom this allows is clear in how the poems of this collection are grounded in what the poet finds sacred and worth his attention, as well as his poetic intimacy. For this reason, I found the collection to be endearing and reminiscent of W.S. Merwin's poetry.
Beyond the aforementioned and the sentimentality the collection evokes, it was an ok read; certainly, no poem/s that blew me away or that I would want to revisit.
Enjoyed this book very much. In several poems Gregory Orr uses unexpected turns of phrases that were brilliant and delightful. He also included at least three villanelles. I LOVE villanelles. Out of 113 or so pages of actual poetry there were only a handful that made me think: meh. I will be revisiting this collection in the none-too-distant future.
“And my luck / Seems double luck / Because it’s so gratuitous, / Because I never did a thing / To earn it, and yet / It’s come to me, as has / This morning / With its early light slanting / Through the maple trees / Alive with birdcalls / And me looking out / On the innocent day / With the eyes I was given for free.”
Sometimes when I’m reading poetry, I feel like I’m reading too fast, that I’m not listening. Then I watch myself stop, reread a line, reread a passage over and over again, and I know I am—I’m paying attention, hopelessly caught in the words.
This was the beautiful experience I felt reading this brutally heart-making collection.
I loved when the beloved made appearances. It's really wonderful reading a poet's works over the years. This collection didn't feel as cohesive as others I have read from this poet, and some of the rhymes just rubbed me the wrong way.
This book is brilliant. At turns lyrical, witty, whimsical yet deceptively complex, this slim book of poems manages to tap on a wide gamut of topics including the Unite the Right Rally in Charlottesville, raising daughters, Melania Trump, aging, marriage, and reading Emily Dickinson.
The slight number of words on the page made me skeptical, but Orr’s words and wisdom punch above their weight class of half-empty pages. I really liked this. I don’t think I’ll be reading tons of poetry from here, but I’ll definitely keep reading Orr.
By now, the wine’s not Working anymore And I’m silently reflecting On how I’ve lived through The end of one century Into the next, and still It’s a dark and violent world.
this is one of my new favorite collections. i felt clearly so much of what he was writing as himself and was able to feel it as myself as well. can't recommend this work enough !!!