false 6469288 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 6469288 2 6659876 15 9 2009 Wheeling Motel total:16|5:9|4:3|3:4|2:0|1:0| 16 69 30 3 85722 3.99 595 80 72213928 526331 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 4 0 false Mon Oct 05 00:00:00 -0700 2009 Wed Sep 23 05:09:17 -0700 2009 Thu Oct 08 20:19:13 -0700 2009 more...]]> 74917594 2824172 7005014 1 http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-111x148.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7005014-the-wheeling-motel 0.0 0 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Sat Oct 10 00:00:00 -0700 2009 Sun Oct 18 09:31:15 -0700 2009 Sun Oct 18 09:32:14 -0700 2009 2 more...]]> 73535300 2736624 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 3 0 false Mon Oct 05 13:14:33 -0700 2009 Mon Oct 26 13:32:17 -0700 2009 81962161 140040 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 4 0 false Sun Dec 27 11:07:09 -0800 2009 Thu Dec 24 12:52:55 -0800 2009 Sun Dec 27 11:07:09 -0800 2009 81784488 1885731 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Tue Dec 22 13:36:38 -0800 2009 Tue Dec 22 13:36:43 -0800 2009 81759545 3052701 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 5 0 false Tue Dec 22 09:42:20 -0800 2009 Tue Dec 22 09:42:20 -0800 2009 80334200 1037177 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 5 0 false Tue Dec 08 14:47:16 -0800 2009 Tue Dec 08 14:47:16 -0800 2009 80044163 1110931 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Sat Dec 05 23:12:27 -0800 2009 Sat Dec 05 23:12:27 -0800 2009 79788509 1260954 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 3 0 false Mon Dec 14 00:00:00 -0800 2009 Thu Dec 03 13:45:29 -0800 2009 Mon Dec 14 11:54:23 -0800 2009 79575149 2999592 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 5 0 false Tue Dec 01 16:53:36 -0800 2009 Tue Dec 01 16:53:36 -0800 2009 77339613 179792 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Tue Nov 10 11:53:19 -0800 2009 Tue Nov 10 11:53:22 -0800 2009 75154292 1656055 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Tue Oct 20 13:31:07 -0700 2009 Tue Oct 20 13:31:13 -0700 2009 74971578 1822621 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Sun Oct 18 18:46:21 -0700 2009 Sun Oct 18 18:46:21 -0700 2009 74925662 2324928 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Sun Oct 18 10:56:53 -0700 2009 Sun Oct 18 10:57:03 -0700 2009 74467695 84572 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 4 0 false Fri Oct 16 21:20:06 -0700 2009 Tue Oct 13 21:28:57 -0700 2009 Tue Oct 13 21:28:57 -0700 2009 74308566 1159001 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Mon Oct 12 14:27:07 -0700 2009 Mon Oct 12 14:27:10 -0700 2009 74248085 2001476 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Mon Oct 12 01:53:39 -0700 2009 Mon Oct 12 01:53:39 -0700 2009 72510523 1287271 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Fri Sep 25 19:25:04 -0700 2009 Fri Sep 25 19:25:04 -0700 2009 72467026 569381 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 5 0 false Fri Oct 02 05:00:39 -0700 2009 Fri Sep 25 11:54:35 -0700 2009 Fri Oct 02 05:00:39 -0700 2009 72257800 2182799 6469288 0307265684 9780307265685 2 http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-m-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/books/64/288/6469288-s-1255999969.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6469288-wheeling-motel 4.31 16 From the indomitable Franz Wright, a luminous book of reconciliation with the past and acceptance of what may come in the future.

From his earliest years, he writes in “Will,” he had “the gift of impermanence / so I would be ready, / accompanied / by a rage to prove them wrong . . . that I too was worthy of love.” This rage comes coupled with the poet’s own brand of love, what he calls “one / strange alone / heart’s wish / to help all / hearts.” Poetry is indeed Wright’s help, and he delivers it to us with a wry sense of the daily in America: in his wonderfully local relationship to God (whom he encounters along with a catfish in the emerald shallows of Walden Pond); in the little West Virginia motel of the title poem, on the banks of the Ohio River, where Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee and he is visited by the figure of Walt Whitman, “examining the tear on a dead face.”

In Wheeling Motel, Wright’s poetry continues to surprise us with its frank appraisal of our soul, with his combustible loneliness and unstoppable joy.

At 54
An instant of lucidity, an hour
outside of time,
a life—
I glance at the left hand
unclenched in the sunlight
shining on my desk
and think of my friend’s
recent cremation—
that takes a while. And I can’t wait
to return to this chair
in which I am sitting, this
world, the one where
each object stands
for nothing at all but
its own inexplicable existence.

]]> 2009 0 0 false Wed Sep 23 13:10:26 -0700 2009 Wed Sep 23 13:10:26 -0700 2009 8 http://www.goodreads.com/book_link/follow/8?book_id=6469288