Understanding Fiction: Poems, 1986-1996

by Henry S. Taylor

Collects poems that tell fictitious stories.

Genres: Poetry

Hardcover

First published October 1, 1996

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database named Henry Taylor.

Henry S. Taylor is an American Poet and winner of the 1986 Pulitzer Prize for his book The Flying Change .

Taylor was raised as a Quaker in rural Virginia, and graduated from the University of Virginia in 1965. He received his MFA from Hollins University (formerly Hollins College) in 1966, after which he taught literature and co-directed the MFA program in creative writing at American University from 1971-2003.

Reviews

[Julie G · Rating 3 out of 5]

This may be the most sedate collection of poems I've ever encountered. And, by sedate, I don't necessarily mean reflective or somber. I think I mean that the poet seems sedated. Sleepy.

When I write poetry, I tend to be either so angry, I rip holes in the pages with my pen, or so sad, I shed big tears all over the ink.

I don't mean to imply that all poetry needs to be angry or sad, but I do think it needs to have a pulse.

It was fitting that I read the majority of this short collection while I sat alone on a bench at the Oklahoma City Zoo (which is surprisingly lovely).

I'm still recovering from an ankle injury and I can't walk for long distances, so I asked my family to go on without me, and I planted myself on a bench before the alpacas and the geese and was thrilled to have a few willow trees, also, as companions.

Here's how it went: I'd read a poem of Mr. Taylor's, then I'd hear a man threatening to throw his child in the pit with the animals. A tired sounding female would say something like, "Put 'em down, Bubba." The child would scream.

I'd read another poem, struggling to keep my eyes open, and another man would come along, lift up his child and then dangle them over the animal enclosure. The child would scream or kick and either shout, “I hate you!” or burst into tears.

I made it to the middle of the poetry collection before I was interrupted by a man in a football jersey who did an ugly dance in front of the alpacas, then turned around to bend over and exhibit his own giant backside. He then turned back to the alpacas and shouted that they were “assholes” and “dipshits.”

Right around this time I read a line from Mr. Taylor's poem “At South Fork Cemetery:”

As if the thoughtless world were generous. . .

I could have applied that line to the end of everything I was feeling in that moment. Yes, I sat on that bench with the wind-blown willows, the fuzzy alpacas with their fast, funny gaits, the honking geese chasing after them, a book of poetry opened on my lap, and I could have smiled, and acted “as if the thoughtless world were generous.”

Instead, I was left wondering who should really be in those animal exhibits.

This poet is apparently a big fan of the famous Edwin Arlington Robinson's, and, in what was probably my favorite poem in this collection (“At the Grave of E.A. Robinson”), he writes:

I beg your pardon, sir. You understood
what use there is in standing here like this,
speaking to one who hears as well as stone;
yet though no answer comes, it does me good
to sound aloud, above your resting place,
hard accents I will carry to my own.

I think that those of us who love dead writers can relate more than a little to those words.

Keep reading, friends. It is truly what separates man from beast.

[Tim · Rating 5 out of 5]

The poetry is narrative and beautiful, moving, often funny. It will stay on the nightstand for several more readings.

"What more will I try
before turning again toward making what peace I can
with the consequences of ignorant choices?"
from "Master of None,"

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

So simple. So clear. Henry Taylor has this amazing way to take a very brief subtle moment (like crushing a napkin or lighting a cigarette) and turning that into a unique and beautiful experience. What the fck.