The New Yorker is an American magazine of reportage, commentary, criticism, essays, fiction, satire, cartoons, and poetry published by Condé Nast Publications. Starting as a weekly in the mid-1920s, the magazine is now published forty-seven times per year, with five of these issues covering two-week spans.
Only a few of the poetry books I own have I "finished". This volume of 900 poems published in the New Yorker between 1925 and 1969 is certainly not one of them. Here I first came across Anne Sexton's magnificent, moving, revelatory poem "Little Girl, My Stringbean, My Lovely Woman" about her 11 year old daughter's metamorphasis toward womanhood. Here I became reacquainted with the poet my 17- year- old- boy- friend- soon- to -be- poet loved the most - Delmore Schwartz. More recently thru this collection I have revisited beloved and also, new to me, poems by Elizabeth Bishop, M.S. Merwin, William Stafford and Robert Graves. Many others of note.
Yes, it is a smattering of sorts. Yes, it is not an analysis of poetry during the years it represents. But, it is informative about which poets and poems were considered worthy by the New Yorker Editors, and is a continuing source of pleasure, memory and discovery for me.
My only real negative - none of John Berryman's best!
This huge book of poetry has been a daily part of my life for almost 4 months, and it is a little hard to say goodbye to that. I read every poem out loud to myself. I marked those I loved, really liked, and liked, in the Table of Contents. I sent several to friends and relatives that seemed pertinent to some aspect of their lives. This book was given to me and my husband as a wedding present by a dear uncle and aunt in 1982, and was probably the most unusual gift we got. I’m so glad I took the time to fully treasure that gift this year.
Stunning work from major poets - great to see what first appeared in The New Yorker's pages. However, an overwhelming amount of also-ran poems from minor - and "major" - poets. A great collection, though, all-in-all.