Off The Bookshelf

Sometimes I forget how amazing Google is; this feature is an oldie but a goodie. I'm not sure precisely how many pages of The RF Reader are revealed but I got to page 42 before I stopped checking. So I encourage you to "thumb" through as many pages as possible. Also Bartleby's offers an impressive selection of Frost poems done up by collections, in this case, four.

A jaunt to Half-Price Books unearthed this metrical delight, and working my way through the poetry (and soon, the prose) has deepened my appreciation for the melodies of meter and the deceptive ease of rhyme. I had read Robert Frost is 'America's Poet' but now I know it for fact. His subjects are as down to earth as snow and fields and picking apples at the height of harvest; his words typically stretch no further than the vernacular but there is elevation in every poem. Again I am amazed by the power and subtlety of words, all words. Of course I have my favorites, a handful of selections I'd like to draw your eye towards --

Into My Own, from 'A Boy's Will'
The Trial By Existence, from 'A Boy's Will'
After Apple-picking, from 'North of Boston'
A Star in a Stoneboat, from 'New Hampshire'

Funny story: the day I bought this book I stopped by a local CVS on the way home. I had carried the book with me (don't ask me why) and at the counter the cashier exclaimed at the sight, "Ugh! I don't envy you!" She thought I was in school, you see, bound by some English course to read the "dreaded" poetry! And honestly, her expression was all sympathy and pity... until I told her, with a laugh, I had bought the book for pleasure. She looked sheepish then and mumbled, "Oh... well, en... joy?" We all shared a laugh then.

late to the party

While cherry-picking articles in the LA Times I came across a piece on Charles Bukowski. I have never had much interest in the man, although I did make it a point to read at least one of his poems. Though suitably impressed, I was not intrigued. The article changed that, however.

The LA Times has a wonderful penchant for high-lighting poetry and its authors; Mark Strand and Don Paterson to name a couple. It's always a delight to come across such pieces. This one, pertaining to Bukowski, is no exception. In fact, I should thank the journalist by e-mail (though I won't because I'm lazy) for sparking my interest in a poet I had no interest in reading.

As with others of its ilk, the article contains an excerpt from the posthumous collection, The People Look Like Flowers At Last. It is the last poem in the book, and it was written by a man with death on his mind.

It is also a beautiful thing. I could taste the salt; could feel the reaching, dead dark as I reached the end. An excerpt:

it bothers the young most, I think:
an unviolent slow death.
still it makes any man dream;
you wish for an old sailing ship,
the white salt-crusted sail
and the sea shaking out hints of immortality.