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This Strangest Everything
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
April 5, 2009
I expected something more of Ciardi. Our library is teeming with volumes of his poetry, so I thought to give him a chance. I haven't yet decided if it was worth it.
I didn't care for the vast majority of the poems. I wonder if others felt the same way, because it wasn't until I was on page 88 (out of 104) that anyone had left a mark on the page. A simple check at the top, as if to say, "Finally, I find this one acceptable." That particular poem was one I liked as well, entitled: Sermon Notes.
Sermon Notes
It's easy to walk out of Hell. But there
Hell starts again. Another channel but
the same damned show. Hell's what we are, not where.
It's easy to walk out of Hell? To what?
To exactly nothing nowhere an unemployed.
The Anti-Hell's not Heaven but the void.
But it was not that poem that bumped up my rating from 2 to 3 stars. It was a poem that summed up my existence, and rivaled my poetic hero Billy Collins :
ON LEAVING THE PARTY AFTER HAVING BEEN POSSIBLY BRILLIANT FOR CERTAINLY TOO LONG
Where's the magician fast as his own trick?
the balancer as light as what he does
on ropes and air? All curtains fall too quick,
all lights go out too soon. And then what was
magic and weightless must reset its traps,
feed the real rabbit, and take off its tights.
I've had enough bright chippies and old chaps
for any man's collection of brittle nights.
I'm smiled out, talked out, quipped out, socialized
so far from any being, I need the weight
of mortal silences to get realized
back into myself. It's late. It's always late.
It's time I looked back in from outer space
and faced the mirror I still have to face.
I didn't care for the vast majority of the poems. I wonder if others felt the same way, because it wasn't until I was on page 88 (out of 104) that anyone had left a mark on the page. A simple check at the top, as if to say, "Finally, I find this one acceptable." That particular poem was one I liked as well, entitled: Sermon Notes.
Sermon Notes
It's easy to walk out of Hell. But there
Hell starts again. Another channel but
the same damned show. Hell's what we are, not where.
It's easy to walk out of Hell? To what?
To exactly nothing nowhere an unemployed.
The Anti-Hell's not Heaven but the void.
But it was not that poem that bumped up my rating from 2 to 3 stars. It was a poem that summed up my existence, and rivaled my poetic hero Billy Collins :
ON LEAVING THE PARTY AFTER HAVING BEEN POSSIBLY BRILLIANT FOR CERTAINLY TOO LONG
Where's the magician fast as his own trick?
the balancer as light as what he does
on ropes and air? All curtains fall too quick,
all lights go out too soon. And then what was
magic and weightless must reset its traps,
feed the real rabbit, and take off its tights.
I've had enough bright chippies and old chaps
for any man's collection of brittle nights.
I'm smiled out, talked out, quipped out, socialized
so far from any being, I need the weight
of mortal silences to get realized
back into myself. It's late. It's always late.
It's time I looked back in from outer space
and faced the mirror I still have to face.
October 9, 2007
Sirs and Madams,
One of these days I'll tell you about this great poet John Ciardi, and how he just so happened to live in the exact wrong time period for a person to be writing. This book isn't his best, but there are some very good things to be gleaned.
P,
V
One of these days I'll tell you about this great poet John Ciardi, and how he just so happened to live in the exact wrong time period for a person to be writing. This book isn't his best, but there are some very good things to be gleaned.
P,
V
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews