By Richard Hugo
Richard Hugo, whom Carolyn Kizer has called" the most passionate, lively, and sincere poets living," the following bargains a rare choice of new poems, every one a "letter" or a "dream." either letters and goals are precise manifestations of alone-ness; Hugo's distinctive senses of alone-ness, of locations, and of different individuals are the forces in the back of his distinctively American and more and more authoritative poetic voice. each one letter is written from a particular position that Hugo has made his personal (a "triggering town," as he has referred to as it in different places) to a pal, a fellow poet, an previous love. We learn over the poet's shoulder because the city triggers the mind's eye, the friendship is re-opened, the poet's selfhood is explored and illuminated. The "dreams" take place all of sudden (as desires do) one of the letters; their haunting photographs supply extra intensity to the poet's exploration. Are we overhearing them? who's the "you" that goals?
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Additional info for 31 Letters and 13 Dreams: Poems
Get in the car on collaborative ankles. We're rowing like Greeks before those trees turn to treason, erased of all their writing.
THE SKIRT OF NICHT A painted tree shadows the river. In a compound eye, nature leans away from struggle, the name is implied. See how he is taken by one hand, or by his leg, a starry gas beating overhead. From the eastern balcony, horizon blinks like a bug. The paradox of counting spreads its ink across the page, a signature more built than drafted. To see or not see. Do you read or hear it? As if by hunger, earth empties its mind. OF WHICH OCCASION I SHAM, TO SI'KAK HAVK AIÏAIN Look at the base, asking to be stolen.
The paradox of counting spreads its ink across the page, a signature more built than drafted. To see or not see. Do you read or hear it? As if by hunger, earth empties its mind. OF WHICH OCCASION I SHAM, TO SI'KAK HAVK AIÏAIN Look at the base, asking to be stolen. Someone in the cash family, staining our hands. Who thought in this idyll we'd be lying on needles? Like what's-her-name in the movie about the doctor, so unlike a shepherd. A loosely valid enterprise, god and his pair of dice. This meadow, I swear, cashes in on leaflessness.