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Collected Poems: 1953-1993
by
John Updike
“The idea of verse, of poetry, has always, during forty years spent working primarily in prose, stood at my elbow, as a standing invitation to the highest kind of verbal exercise—the most satisfying, the most archaic, the most elusive of critical control. In hotel rooms and airplanes, on beaches and Sundays, at junctures of personal happiness or its opposite, poetry has co...more
Paperback, 416 pages
Published
July 4th 1995
by Knopf
(first published 1993)
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A fun read by an author who will undoubtedly be remembered in posterity more for his novels than his poetry. But this collection includes one of the best poems ever written about human feces, "The Beautiful Bowel Movement". And as that poem can be found online, I will instead include Updike's poem, "Camera", here in this review....one of the best poems ever written about photography:
Camera
Let me gaze, gaze forever
into that single, vaguely violet eye:
my fingertips dilate
the veiled pupil circumscr...more
Camera
Let me gaze, gaze forever
into that single, vaguely violet eye:
my fingertips dilate
the veiled pupil circumscr...more
Aug 03, 2011
Bill
added it
Updike couldn't resist the urge to make a collection he had to know he would make immediately incomplete by his continuing output. So paves the way for a Final Collected poems, probably next year, after Knopf finishes with the 3 or 4 books he scheduled this year, just before he died. Anyway, it benefits by combining them thematically and if you cannot find his earlier collections, here you go.
I don't recall much about this book, but I beleive I read it cover to cover. Just as - CS Lewis, the Little House books that my mom read me, and the BFG that my 4th grade teacher read to us - were the impetus for my love of literature, this book ignited my interest in poetry.
Feb 17, 2008
Leslie
rated it
4 of 5 stars
·
review of another edition
Recommends it for:
readers who like accessible poems and don't mind adult themes
Shelves:
poetry
Mr. Updike, must you be good at everything? And must you make it look so easy? Okay, so this is a bit of a mixed bag, but I love the mix! I love the lyrical, the profound, and even the merely (?) clever. The latter is utterly charming.
And on the hardcover edition there's a black and white portrait of you sipping tea from a tea cup. You're not fooling anyone, of course, you crusty old hound, but I've always had mad skillz when it comes to willing suspension of disbelief.
And on the hardcover edition there's a black and white portrait of you sipping tea from a tea cup. You're not fooling anyone, of course, you crusty old hound, but I've always had mad skillz when it comes to willing suspension of disbelief.
A collection of poetry that is daring, experimental, thought-provoking, and evocative. As sublimely vulgar as it is underrated.
A comfort when the world seems tasteless.
AMAZING, amazing poet.
Jan 11, 2013
Eddy Allen
rated it
4 of 5 stars
·
review of another edition
Shelves:
fantasy-and-horror
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John Hoyer Updike (born March 18, 1932 in Shillington, Pennsylvania) was an American writer. Updike's most famous work is his Rabbit series (Rabbit, Run; Rabbit Redux; Rabbit Is Rich; Rabbit At Rest; and Rabbit Remembered). Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest both won Pulitzer Prizes for Updike. Describing his subject as "the American small town, Protestant middle class," Updike is well known for hi...more
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“The Sometime Sportsman Greets the Spring
by John Updike
When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens,
And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing,
Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens
In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing.
This year, he vows, his head will steady be,
His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal;
And so they are, until upon the tee
Befall the old contortions of the real.
So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from
Hibernal months of television sports,
Perfects his serve and feels his knees become
Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts.
Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss,
Which shall be high, so that the racket face
Shall at a certain angle sweep across
The floated sphere with gutty strings—an ace!
The mind's eye sees it all until upon
The courts of life the faulty way we played
In other summers rolls back with the sun.
Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.”
—
3 people liked it
More quotes…
by John Updike
When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens,
And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing,
Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens
In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing.
This year, he vows, his head will steady be,
His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal;
And so they are, until upon the tee
Befall the old contortions of the real.
So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from
Hibernal months of television sports,
Perfects his serve and feels his knees become
Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts.
Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss,
Which shall be high, so that the racket face
Shall at a certain angle sweep across
The floated sphere with gutty strings—an ace!
The mind's eye sees it all until upon
The courts of life the faulty way we played
In other summers rolls back with the sun.
Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.”
