Poetry: Searching for Fire in the Trees

"How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--

 

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
--Till elevators drop us from our day . . .

 

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

 

....."

"In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

 

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.

....."

"Let's not forget the General
Shuffling out in his gray slippers
To feed the pigeons in Logan Square.

He wore a battered White Sox cap
And a heavy woolen scarf tossed
Over his shoulder, even in summer.
....."

"Boil over—it’s what the nerves do,
Watch them seethe when stimulated,

Murmurs the man at the stove
To the one at the fridge—

Watch that electric impulse that finally makes them
Fume and fizz at either

Frayed end. If you could grasp a bundle
Of nerves in your fist like a jumper cable, and sense that
....."

1

 

I came up out of the subway and there were
people standing on the steps as if they knew
something I didn't. This was in the Cold War,
and nuclear fallout. I looked and the whole avenue
was empty, I mean utterly, and I thought,
The birds have abandoned our cities and the plague
of silence multiplies through their arteries, they fought
the war and they lost and there's nothing subtle or vague
in this horrifying vacuum that is New York. I caught
the blare of a loudspeaker repeatedly warning

....."

"In 2006 the New York Times asked a select group of literary sages: “What’s the best work of American fiction of the last 25 years?” The results of the poll stirred chatter, passions, and healthy controversy. Toni Morrison’s Beloved emerged as the voters' favorite, followed by Don DeLillo’s Underworld, Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, and John Updike’s Rabbit tetralogy.

To the best of my knowledge, no one has yet compiled a similar list for poetry. I find this slightly surprising: whereas it might take a reader years to plough through the fiction list, anyone can consume an equivalent number of poems in a single afternoon, and so feel encouraged to join in the parlor game. Besides, while the contemporary fiction canon is fairly well established (most people interested in the Times list would already have been familiar with Beloved), contemporary poetry is a vast hodgepodge through which critics have only just begun to wade. Kvetch if you like about the reductiveness of literary 'canons': in this case, a little winnowing couldn’t hurt.

Though I can’t match the Times’s ability to survey famous authors, I thought I’d at least try to start the discussion by suggesting a few choices of my own, then soliciting other picks from readers. Below is a list of five poems I predict will stand the test of time, accompanied by brief commentaries (justifications?) for each. The poems are ranked in no particular order—I have about equal confidence in all of them—and I can’t call them a 'Top Five' because my knowledge of recent poetry is nowhere near exhaustive. They’re simply five poems that I think belong on any best-of list. I’ve also mentioned a handful of 'runners-up' that I greatly admire."

"'Are you housed in me or not? The tenant / or the landlord of my skin? Am I your / avatar? Are you my East Berlin? Are we an I / or each other’s synonym?' asks Steve Gehrke in 'The New Self.' Poetry is filled with such dualities this month. Tony Hoagland’s 'Don’t Tell Anyone,' contemplates a wife’s revelation that she screams underwater as she swims: 'it is not all fun / to be ripped by the crooked beak // of something called psychology.'
....."

"On June 7, 2012, Librarian of Congress James H. Billington announced the appointment of Natasha Trethewey as the 19th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry. In a statement announcing the appointment, Dr. Billington said:

'Natasha Trethewey is an outstanding poet/historian in the mold of Robert Penn Warren, our first Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry. Her poems dig beneath the surface of history—personal or communal, from childhood or from a century ago—to explore the human struggles that we all face.'

This guide compiles links to resources on Natasha Trethewey throughout the Library of Congress Web site, as well as links to external Web sites that include features on her life or selections of her work. To suggest additions to this guide, please contact the Digital Reference Section."