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The Stoop
Moving from childhood to retirement, "The Stoop" covers a wide range of subject matter. Several poems explore growing up in Brooklyn, New York in the 1950s and 1960s, which include painful and humorous memories. Many poems reflect on cinematic, literary, and artistic works which have made a lasting impact on the writer. The final section engages with some contemporary issues the author navigates as he deals with aging and retirement. The collection includes a poem ("The Minimalist") that won first place in the Common Ground Review annual poetry contest (2011).
44 pages, Paperback
Published February 5, 2021
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
May 21, 2024
"The Stoop" reminded me of a "Tree Grows in Brooklyn" (several poems mention Brooklyn) but it somehow felt like "home" to me. I then read the back of the book and found out that the poet grew up in Brooklyn NY and retired here in our little city of Radford, Virginia. Makes sense. I liked the book's combination of lyrical and light verse. Very accessible and it certainly has a sense of place. There were some anti-Trump sentiments that didn't resonate with me.
"Reading the Stoic with my coffee,
seeking wisdom in my dotage.
Marcus Aurelius counsels patience:
"Nothing is endless," he says.
Has he been to DMV?. . .
I try to imagine Sisyphus happy. . .
There he is in the pit,
rocking and rolling, bearing the weight,
feeling the gritty sandstone
bite into his palms.
he breathes evenly, shifting his center of gravity
as he slowly climbs.
Each time he falls back, he pauses.
considers a new strategy to minimize the pain,
adjusts his stance so as to maintain a fine balance
between hope and despair. "
"You did not resemble sleep.
No dreams danced beneath your eyelids.
Your body was already cool to the touch,
abstract, like a stillborn verb:
uninflected, without tense, mood
or person. "
"Reading the Stoic with my coffee,
seeking wisdom in my dotage.
Marcus Aurelius counsels patience:
"Nothing is endless," he says.
Has he been to DMV?. . .
I try to imagine Sisyphus happy. . .
There he is in the pit,
rocking and rolling, bearing the weight,
feeling the gritty sandstone
bite into his palms.
he breathes evenly, shifting his center of gravity
as he slowly climbs.
Each time he falls back, he pauses.
considers a new strategy to minimize the pain,
adjusts his stance so as to maintain a fine balance
between hope and despair. "
"You did not resemble sleep.
No dreams danced beneath your eyelids.
Your body was already cool to the touch,
abstract, like a stillborn verb:
uninflected, without tense, mood
or person. "
Displaying 1 of 1 review