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The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir
Upon publication of The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir in 1973, Richard Howard wrote, "Richard Hugo's concern is the unenviable, the unenviable, the unvisited, even the univiting, which he must invest with his own deprivation, his own private war. . . . Each poem adds its incisive particulars to the general stoic wreck; but what startles, then reassures in all this canon of the inconsolable, the unsanctified, the dispossessed, is Hugo's poetics, the analogy of language to experience. . . . Richard Hugo is such an important poet because the difficulties inherent in his art provide him a means of saying what he has to say. It is no accident that he must develop a negative in order to produce a true image."
- GenresPoetry
79 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1973
About the author
Richard Hugo
47 books68 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
Richard Hugo (December 21, 1923 - October 22, 1982), born Richard Hogan, was an American poet. Primarily a regionalist, Hugo's work reflects the economic depression of the Northwest, particularly Montana. Born in White Center, Washington, he was raised by his mother's parents after his father left the family. In 1942 he legally changed his name to Richard Hugo, taking his stepfather's surname. He served in World War II as a bombardier in the Mediterranean. He left the service in 1945 after flying 35 combat missions and reaching the rank of first lieutenant.
Hugo received his B.A. in 1948 and his M.A. in 1952 in Creative Writing from the University of Washington where he studied under Theodore Roethke.[1] He married Barbara Williams in 1952, the same year he started working as a technical writer for Boeing.
In 1961 his first book of poems, A Run of Jacks, was published. Soon after he took a creative writing teaching job at the University of Montana. He later became the head of the creative writing program there.[2] His wife returned to Seattle in 1964, and they divorced soon after. He published five more books of poetry, a memoir, a highly respected book on writing, and also a mystery novel. His posthumous book of collected poetry, Making Certain It Goes On, evinces that his poems are marked by crisp, gorgeous images of nature that often stand in contrast to his own depression, loneliness, and alcoholism. Although almost always written in free verse, his poems have a strong sense of rhythm that often echoes iambic meters. He also wrote of large number of informal epistolary poems at a time when that form was unfashionable.
Hugo was a friend of poet James Wright.
Hugo’s The Real West Marginal Way is a collection of essays, generally autobiographical in nature, that detail his childhood, his military service, his poetics, and his teaching.
Hugo remarried in 1974 to Ripley Schemm Hansen. In 1977 he was named the editor of the Yale Younger Poets Series.
Hugo died of leukemia on October 22, 1982.
Richard Hugo (December 21, 1923 - October 22, 1982), born Richard Hogan, was an American poet. Primarily a regionalist, Hugo's work reflects the economic depression of the Northwest, particularly Montana. Born in White Center, Washington, he was raised by his mother's parents after his father left the family. In 1942 he legally changed his name to Richard Hugo, taking his stepfather's surname. He served in World War II as a bombardier in the Mediterranean. He left the service in 1945 after flying 35 combat missions and reaching the rank of first lieutenant.
Hugo received his B.A. in 1948 and his M.A. in 1952 in Creative Writing from the University of Washington where he studied under Theodore Roethke.[1] He married Barbara Williams in 1952, the same year he started working as a technical writer for Boeing.
In 1961 his first book of poems, A Run of Jacks, was published. Soon after he took a creative writing teaching job at the University of Montana. He later became the head of the creative writing program there.[2] His wife returned to Seattle in 1964, and they divorced soon after. He published five more books of poetry, a memoir, a highly respected book on writing, and also a mystery novel. His posthumous book of collected poetry, Making Certain It Goes On, evinces that his poems are marked by crisp, gorgeous images of nature that often stand in contrast to his own depression, loneliness, and alcoholism. Although almost always written in free verse, his poems have a strong sense of rhythm that often echoes iambic meters. He also wrote of large number of informal epistolary poems at a time when that form was unfashionable.
Hugo was a friend of poet James Wright.
Hugo’s The Real West Marginal Way is a collection of essays, generally autobiographical in nature, that detail his childhood, his military service, his poetics, and his teaching.
Hugo remarried in 1974 to Ripley Schemm Hansen. In 1977 he was named the editor of the Yale Younger Poets Series.
Hugo died of leukemia on October 22, 1982.
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
August 19, 2012
Poet Richard Hugo was a native of Seattle, or technically, White Center, an unincorporated neighborhood familiarly known as "Rat City." White Center is a tough, rundown area of immigrants and low-cost housing, a place feared by many Seattleites as a lawless no-man's-land of bars and gaming parlors prowled by gangs and prone to random gunfire. In Richard Hugo's youth, the 1930s, it wasn't much different--a hardscrabble place where the poor lived.
White Center permeates Hugo's poetry. It haunts his memory, shapes his language, colors his moods. Even when he escaped--first into the Army Air Corps as a bombardier, then to the University of Washington under the tutelage of Theodore Roethke, and finally to Montana, where he taught poetry at the university--Rat City was always with him.
A friend of mine compares Hugo to Raymond Carver, another Northwest icon. She sees in his plain, hard and hopeless poems fueled by alcohol and persistent depression something akin to Carver's minimalist stories. But where Carver reveals an occasional ray of hope, an unwarranted grace that might redeem, Hugo's outlook is grim.
The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir is one of Hugo's later books (1973). In one poem he describes a bar in Montana where ritual for the passed-out Indian is to be laid upon a table to sleep it off. In another he writes of coming across a map of Montana on an Italian bar's wall, where patrons cheer at the violence of TV westerns. And in still another he describes a bar in Dixon, Montana, a dying town that is "Home. Home. I knew it entering." Even touring in Europe, the great tradition of poetry cannot dim his darkness. In a graveyard in Somersby, England he sees the headstone of a child and writes:
Mercy Jesus Mercy
cries a stone
b 1586
d 1591
and Tennyson's brook
drones on
Most of Hugo's poems are narrative in style, vernacular and unadorned. His is not poetry you will recite lines from, but you will remember its emotional punch long after putting the book away.
White Center permeates Hugo's poetry. It haunts his memory, shapes his language, colors his moods. Even when he escaped--first into the Army Air Corps as a bombardier, then to the University of Washington under the tutelage of Theodore Roethke, and finally to Montana, where he taught poetry at the university--Rat City was always with him.
A friend of mine compares Hugo to Raymond Carver, another Northwest icon. She sees in his plain, hard and hopeless poems fueled by alcohol and persistent depression something akin to Carver's minimalist stories. But where Carver reveals an occasional ray of hope, an unwarranted grace that might redeem, Hugo's outlook is grim.
The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir is one of Hugo's later books (1973). In one poem he describes a bar in Montana where ritual for the passed-out Indian is to be laid upon a table to sleep it off. In another he writes of coming across a map of Montana on an Italian bar's wall, where patrons cheer at the violence of TV westerns. And in still another he describes a bar in Dixon, Montana, a dying town that is "Home. Home. I knew it entering." Even touring in Europe, the great tradition of poetry cannot dim his darkness. In a graveyard in Somersby, England he sees the headstone of a child and writes:
Mercy Jesus Mercy
cries a stone
b 1586
d 1591
and Tennyson's brook
drones on
Most of Hugo's poems are narrative in style, vernacular and unadorned. His is not poetry you will recite lines from, but you will remember its emotional punch long after putting the book away.
March 29, 2015
Seriously, best book of poems I have ever read. How many poetry books have I read? Good question (but kind of rude), and the answer is about 10. I am not a regular poetry reader. I am, however, a lover of short story collections, especially ones that are realistic, bleak, relentlessly honest and feature writing that is restrained, disciplined and punchy. Well, that's what we have here, my friends. All of the above! I read in some other reviews that he reminds people of Raymond Carver. I second that. Carver is one of my all-time favorite short story writers. Both Hugo and Carver are from the state of Washington, and the sort of dreary malaise that marks that region seeps through here. Lots of stories about men failing and behaving badly, which depresses some people, but always seems to bring a smile to my face. "Degrees of Grays in Philipsburg" is perhaps the best, most representative piece in the collection, and pretty instantly I feel like it became an instant classic for me.
March 10, 2008
Hope is vague. And Hugo is brilliant.
Read
October 21, 2025This collection is pretty good but you really just need to read “degrees of gray” a bunch of times, clearly the peak of them all
April 3, 2015
4.5 stars. This was my third book of Hugo's, the second of pure poetry, and the earliest collection of his work I've read. I had a harder time getting into Hugo's verse in sections of this book than I did in 31 Letters and 13 Dreams, though that may be somewhat influenced by my reading environment. (I read this book on my morning & evening bus commutes.) I was interested in Hugo's individual dedications of the poems in the first section, "Montana with Friends." A few poems I enjoyed from this section: "Graves at Elkhorn," "Bad Eyes Spinning the Rock" (wonderful fly fishing imagery), "Silver Star," and "Indian Graves at Jocko" (staggering last lines).
I was initially skeptical of the "Touring" section, fearing that Hugo unmoored from the American West would disappoint. Thinking back on this, I should have remembered that plenty of his poems in 31 Letters and 13 Dreams were set abroad. Hugo's sense of place and ability to imbue those places in his verse carry the section and unite new surroundings with those more familiar. Nowhere is this gift more clearly displayed than in "Walking Praed Street."
While I genuinely like most of the poems in "Touring," and count a couple of them as favorites in the collection, I am far less enthusiastic about the following section, "Touring With Friends." This is probably my fault – I perceived a shift in register of these poems and couldn't do enough on my end as a reader to follow Hugo. Frame of mind and reading environment were the major factors on my end. Only one poem in this section – "Cleggan" – truly connected with me, though it's one of my favorites in the book. I'd be interested to re-read the collection later on to gauge anew my sense of this section in relation to the others.
Finally, the "Montana" section – home of most of my favorites in this book. Hugo manages in the space of a few poems to evoke a more nuanced, textured Montana than Richard Ford managed in many chapters of Canada. (This is not a knock on Ford; I thoroughly enjoyed his novel. Hugo's just that gifted.) The juxtaposition of pastoral admiration in "Driving Montana" and unheeded devastation in "Montana Ranch Abandoned" is sublime. (The thread that connects is the narrator's speeding Buick in the former and "cars would still boom by beyond the fence, no glance/from drivers as you till the lunar dust" in the latter.) Hugo is the Virgil of our trip to Montana, showing us around the state, examining overlooked nooks with great love. The closing poem, "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," is transcendent and points the way to the meticulous mastery that Hugo displays in 31 Letters and 13 Dreams andThe Triggering Town.
Selected favorites throughout: "Indian Graves at Jocko," "Somersby," "Taneum Creek," "Cleggan," "Camas Prairie School," "Missoula Softball Tournament," "The Only Bar in Dixon," "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg."
I was initially skeptical of the "Touring" section, fearing that Hugo unmoored from the American West would disappoint. Thinking back on this, I should have remembered that plenty of his poems in 31 Letters and 13 Dreams were set abroad. Hugo's sense of place and ability to imbue those places in his verse carry the section and unite new surroundings with those more familiar. Nowhere is this gift more clearly displayed than in "Walking Praed Street."
While I genuinely like most of the poems in "Touring," and count a couple of them as favorites in the collection, I am far less enthusiastic about the following section, "Touring With Friends." This is probably my fault – I perceived a shift in register of these poems and couldn't do enough on my end as a reader to follow Hugo. Frame of mind and reading environment were the major factors on my end. Only one poem in this section – "Cleggan" – truly connected with me, though it's one of my favorites in the book. I'd be interested to re-read the collection later on to gauge anew my sense of this section in relation to the others.
Finally, the "Montana" section – home of most of my favorites in this book. Hugo manages in the space of a few poems to evoke a more nuanced, textured Montana than Richard Ford managed in many chapters of Canada. (This is not a knock on Ford; I thoroughly enjoyed his novel. Hugo's just that gifted.) The juxtaposition of pastoral admiration in "Driving Montana" and unheeded devastation in "Montana Ranch Abandoned" is sublime. (The thread that connects is the narrator's speeding Buick in the former and "cars would still boom by beyond the fence, no glance/from drivers as you till the lunar dust" in the latter.) Hugo is the Virgil of our trip to Montana, showing us around the state, examining overlooked nooks with great love. The closing poem, "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," is transcendent and points the way to the meticulous mastery that Hugo displays in 31 Letters and 13 Dreams andThe Triggering Town.
Selected favorites throughout: "Indian Graves at Jocko," "Somersby," "Taneum Creek," "Cleggan," "Camas Prairie School," "Missoula Softball Tournament," "The Only Bar in Dixon," "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg."
January 25, 2008
Richard Hugo, The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir
Two decades after Hugo's early death, he's finally starting to get the recognition he deserves as one of the twentieth century's masters of poetry. His output was sparse, starting relatively late in his life and covering less than a half-dozen books of poetry, along with a few other prose books. But what little there was was some of the best American poetry ever written.
Hugo writes with a rhythm and style that compares best to novelist Cormac McCarthy; it's a little difficult getting over the first hump, but once you've settled into his diction, everything inside is magic.
I got three bulls and a native cutthroat, lover.
I'm phoning from the bar in Victor.
One drunk's fading fast. The other's fast
with information-- worms don't work in August.I found
a virgin forest with a moss floor.
You and I can love there. Pack the food....
(from "Phoning from Sweathouse Creek")
The book is divided into four parts, two of which focus on one of Hugo's trips to Europe, and two on Montana. There is a strong sense of place in this work, a connection to the culture, however long-dead, of what Hugo is writing about. It's all excellent, every last line. One of the best books of poetry I've read in years. **** 1/2
Two decades after Hugo's early death, he's finally starting to get the recognition he deserves as one of the twentieth century's masters of poetry. His output was sparse, starting relatively late in his life and covering less than a half-dozen books of poetry, along with a few other prose books. But what little there was was some of the best American poetry ever written.
Hugo writes with a rhythm and style that compares best to novelist Cormac McCarthy; it's a little difficult getting over the first hump, but once you've settled into his diction, everything inside is magic.
I got three bulls and a native cutthroat, lover.
I'm phoning from the bar in Victor.
One drunk's fading fast. The other's fast
with information-- worms don't work in August.I found
a virgin forest with a moss floor.
You and I can love there. Pack the food....
(from "Phoning from Sweathouse Creek")
The book is divided into four parts, two of which focus on one of Hugo's trips to Europe, and two on Montana. There is a strong sense of place in this work, a connection to the culture, however long-dead, of what Hugo is writing about. It's all excellent, every last line. One of the best books of poetry I've read in years. **** 1/2
April 29, 2020
He clearly saved the best for last. "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg"
May 18, 2025
3.5 stars. I will always be in debt to Hugo for his helpful lectures to young writers, but reading a bunch of his poems back to back in a collection makes me start to wonder if he’s a bit of a one-trick pony. The poems tend to rely on the same generative mechanism—pick a small, run-down town and describe it with a bunch of non sequitur details. He would have done better to have some returns or meditations on single objects now and then. But he does have some really great lines taken on their own. He seems to be always writing for the line, which I like. The title poem and “Degrees of Grey…” have wonderful depth, and I can see why these two are always the ones anthologized.
February 20, 2018
In the early Eighties, I hosted Richard Hugo for a poetry reading at the University of Mississippi. It was as good an hour of language and community as I've ever experienced. The post-reading dinner was somewhat blurry given the poet's love of spirits, but I came away from it feeling that I'd finally encountered a voice--on the page and in the world--that captured aspects of where I'd come from--the Rocky Mountain West--I hadn't heard anywhere else. That's never flagged and I'll keep reading Hugo as long as I'm aware of language.
The first book to grow out of Hugo's move from Washington state to Montana, The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir ranks with the very best books of Western American poetry, as well as alongside the best of 20th Century American poetry, and, I'd argue, with American poetry of any period.
I've been re-reading Hugo's books in order, feeling the voice growing more sure and deep at every step. It's all here in Lady: the lyrical depth (focusing on experiences of loss, the Western landscapes--historical and psychological--, the hard joys of labor, and the ambiguities of American masculinity. The cadences are absolutely sure and the music rich and mysterious. An exceptional teacher of creative writing--see his book The Triggering Town for the evidence--Hugo emphasized using sound--repeated consonants particularly--as a way of outwitting one's desire to "say something." It's a path to the murkier depths (like those in the title poem) and discovering unsuspected connections.
Almost every poem in Kicking Horse includes memorable lines, but I have a clear preference for the Montana sequences over the touring sequences that take him to Scotland and mainland Europe; those interests, signaled in the previous book (Good Luck in Cracked Italian), will come to fruition a decade later in The Right Madness on Skye. At the risk of recreating the table of contents, I'll list the poems I marked for re-reading. The A plus list includes the title poem; "Cataldo Mission;" "Missoula Softball Tournament;" "Bear Paw;" and "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," as good as any poem of the last 50 years (of course, everything on that list has its own, fundamentally incomparable, excellence.) Not far behind: "A Map of Montana in Italy;" "The Milltown Union Bar;" "Dog Lake with Paula;" "Helena, Where Homes Go Mad;" "Sliver Star;" "With Kathy in Wisdom;" "Drums in Scotland;" "Montgomery Hollow;" "Old Map of Ulherstown;" "A Night with Cindy at Heitman's;" "Driving Montana;" "Montana Ranch, Abandoned;" and "A Night at the Napi in Browning."
Among other things, Hugo's as good a "white" writer as there is in digging into the importance, reality, tragedy, and blues humor of Native American life.
Choosing lines to quote is more than a bit difficult, but I'll go with these. First, from "A Map of Montana in Italy:"
The two biggest towns are dull deposits
of men getting along, making money, driving
to church every Sunday, censoring movies and books.
The two most interesting towns, Helena, Butte,
have the good sense to fail. There's too much
schoolboy in bars--I'm tougher than you--
and too much talk about money.
Jails and police are how you dream Poland--
odd charges, bad food and forms you must fill
stating your religion. In Poland say none.
With so few Negroes and Jews we've been reduced
to hating each other, dumping our crud
in our rivers, mistreating the Indians."
And then there's the glorious final stanza of "Degrees of Gray" in which Hugo's person reaches deep down for the vision that can transform the depression into a hard-earned act of radiant imagination. He's just finished thinking of himself as doomed to relive the fate of an ancient prisoner in the town jail, looking form a distance at the "good jazz and booze/ the world will never let you have/ until the town you came from dies inside". Then, the turn:
"Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I'll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You're talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it's mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall."
The first book to grow out of Hugo's move from Washington state to Montana, The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir ranks with the very best books of Western American poetry, as well as alongside the best of 20th Century American poetry, and, I'd argue, with American poetry of any period.
I've been re-reading Hugo's books in order, feeling the voice growing more sure and deep at every step. It's all here in Lady: the lyrical depth (focusing on experiences of loss, the Western landscapes--historical and psychological--, the hard joys of labor, and the ambiguities of American masculinity. The cadences are absolutely sure and the music rich and mysterious. An exceptional teacher of creative writing--see his book The Triggering Town for the evidence--Hugo emphasized using sound--repeated consonants particularly--as a way of outwitting one's desire to "say something." It's a path to the murkier depths (like those in the title poem) and discovering unsuspected connections.
Almost every poem in Kicking Horse includes memorable lines, but I have a clear preference for the Montana sequences over the touring sequences that take him to Scotland and mainland Europe; those interests, signaled in the previous book (Good Luck in Cracked Italian), will come to fruition a decade later in The Right Madness on Skye. At the risk of recreating the table of contents, I'll list the poems I marked for re-reading. The A plus list includes the title poem; "Cataldo Mission;" "Missoula Softball Tournament;" "Bear Paw;" and "Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg," as good as any poem of the last 50 years (of course, everything on that list has its own, fundamentally incomparable, excellence.) Not far behind: "A Map of Montana in Italy;" "The Milltown Union Bar;" "Dog Lake with Paula;" "Helena, Where Homes Go Mad;" "Sliver Star;" "With Kathy in Wisdom;" "Drums in Scotland;" "Montgomery Hollow;" "Old Map of Ulherstown;" "A Night with Cindy at Heitman's;" "Driving Montana;" "Montana Ranch, Abandoned;" and "A Night at the Napi in Browning."
Among other things, Hugo's as good a "white" writer as there is in digging into the importance, reality, tragedy, and blues humor of Native American life.
Choosing lines to quote is more than a bit difficult, but I'll go with these. First, from "A Map of Montana in Italy:"
The two biggest towns are dull deposits
of men getting along, making money, driving
to church every Sunday, censoring movies and books.
The two most interesting towns, Helena, Butte,
have the good sense to fail. There's too much
schoolboy in bars--I'm tougher than you--
and too much talk about money.
Jails and police are how you dream Poland--
odd charges, bad food and forms you must fill
stating your religion. In Poland say none.
With so few Negroes and Jews we've been reduced
to hating each other, dumping our crud
in our rivers, mistreating the Indians."
And then there's the glorious final stanza of "Degrees of Gray" in which Hugo's person reaches deep down for the vision that can transform the depression into a hard-earned act of radiant imagination. He's just finished thinking of himself as doomed to relive the fate of an ancient prisoner in the town jail, looking form a distance at the "good jazz and booze/ the world will never let you have/ until the town you came from dies inside". Then, the turn:
"Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I'll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You're talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it's mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall."
June 22, 2008
What an intriguing title for a book – and for a poem. It is the first poem in the 4th section, entitled Montana. We don’t know who the lady is except that she meant enough to the narrator for him to write about her and now spends the seasons “tangled in those pads/pulled not quite loose by the spillway pour,” and haunts his dreams along with loners at the now shut-down factory.” Kicking Horse does double duty as Indian nuance and the occlusive that kicks at both lady and horse.
How different from the 1st section entitled Montana with Friends which starts with the poem A Map of Montana in Italy. Hugo offers us place with overtones.
“The two biggest towns are dull deposits/of men getting along, making money, driving/
to church every Sunday, censoring movies and books.” In contrast with Eliot’s weary life
measured by coffeespoons, these poems are filled with grit and dust of towns, not introspective meditations. There is madness, drunkenness, and yet the reader is asked to figure out a place in this humanity: “whatever is odd/the Indian without a tribe who dresses mad/in kilts, the cloud that snaps at mountains,/means to you, life at normal, no rest/from the weird.” Just as TSE has memorable lines, Hugo comes up with his share that stand on their own with or without context:
“The world discards the world.”
“Black plague comes back laughter and grass bends/obedient as ancient beets.”
and who can forget that “frightfully stuff,/hopelessly dignified, brazenly British,/somewhat mangy lion in the zoo.”
“who’s to know you fail and do not fail/and who’s to know the banging storm within,/one wind returning empty to your soul/noon after afternoon.”
Such language is vivid, gripping. Hugo’s colloquial ease and sense of humor, no matter how dark, are refreshing but do not mask his talent to create mood which haunts long after the poem is finished.
How different from the 1st section entitled Montana with Friends which starts with the poem A Map of Montana in Italy. Hugo offers us place with overtones.
“The two biggest towns are dull deposits/of men getting along, making money, driving/
to church every Sunday, censoring movies and books.” In contrast with Eliot’s weary life
measured by coffeespoons, these poems are filled with grit and dust of towns, not introspective meditations. There is madness, drunkenness, and yet the reader is asked to figure out a place in this humanity: “whatever is odd/the Indian without a tribe who dresses mad/in kilts, the cloud that snaps at mountains,/means to you, life at normal, no rest/from the weird.” Just as TSE has memorable lines, Hugo comes up with his share that stand on their own with or without context:
“The world discards the world.”
“Black plague comes back laughter and grass bends/obedient as ancient beets.”
and who can forget that “frightfully stuff,/hopelessly dignified, brazenly British,/somewhat mangy lion in the zoo.”
“who’s to know you fail and do not fail/and who’s to know the banging storm within,/one wind returning empty to your soul/noon after afternoon.”
Such language is vivid, gripping. Hugo’s colloquial ease and sense of humor, no matter how dark, are refreshing but do not mask his talent to create mood which haunts long after the poem is finished.
Read
January 30, 2016Rating: 3 1/2
Four sections: "Montana with Friends", "Touring", "Touring with Friends", and "Montana".
A few pieces stood out to me:
"A Map of Montana in Italy"
"Walking Praed Street"
"Hot Springs"
I know a flat and friendless north.
A poem can end there, or a man, but never
in a storm.
- "Point No Point"
...........................................You are lost
in miles of land without people, without
one fear of being found, in the dash
of rabbits, soar of antelope, swirl
merge and clatter of streams.
- "Driving Montana"
Four sections: "Montana with Friends", "Touring", "Touring with Friends", and "Montana".
A few pieces stood out to me:
"A Map of Montana in Italy"
"Walking Praed Street"
"Hot Springs"
I know a flat and friendless north.
A poem can end there, or a man, but never
in a storm.
- "Point No Point"
...........................................You are lost
in miles of land without people, without
one fear of being found, in the dash
of rabbits, soar of antelope, swirl
merge and clatter of streams.
- "Driving Montana"
September 3, 2012
Hugo's poems inhabit the wind-swept landscapes and blue collar towns of the American West (especially their barrooms). He finds a lot of bleakness, but flitting glimpses of grace too. The tone is measured but lively. I want to learn more about how poets manage rhythm and structure. Hugo knows what he's doing in this regard.
January 2, 2009
I was surprised by the book this read through. I have been reading a lot of James Wright lately, and I thought these poems would have that same meditative and deepened approach to the subject. But it's more flat. More contemporary.
December 20, 2012
not my favorite Hugo book, but still lovely. I do like how most of the poems are dedicated giving them a personal feel. the poems have a kind of loneliness to them that is powerful with an eye for the right detail and an ear that is pitch perfect.
June 22, 2017
Beautiful, wild, thought-provoking...poems that demand to be read out loud.
May 16, 2011
Hugo's best book.
April 22, 2015
Love the poems about Montana
December 14, 2015
I wasn't into the middle section on Europe. I mostly read do remember my recent travels in Montana. That part he captured well.
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February 22, 2018811.54 H895L 1973
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews