Susan Dworski Nusbaum. Armored Hearts. Places to Enter. Nancy Ellingson. Route 66 and Its Sorrows. Carolyn Miller. Corinna McClanahan Schroeder. Pacific Walkers. Nance van Van Winckel. Earth, Grass, Trees and Stone. Mary Anne Morefield. Remember Us to Seasons.
Quiet Lives. David Cope. First Kingdoms. Ken Lauter. Anybody: Poems. Ari Banias. Seventy Three Summers. James L. The Hundred Grasses. Leila Wilson. Randall Potts. The Bones of His Being. Sue Chenette. On the Bridge. Richard Hugo. Where Now: New and Selected Poems.
Otherworld, Underworld, Prayer Porch. Bone Willows.
James Engelhardt. Portrait of the Artist as a White Pig. Jane Gentry.
Seasons' Medley. Grace Olson. Earth Again.
Quick Copy View. I want a heart that loves. My virtue is not less because my sin is great. Poetry as Topic -- United States. I loved them all. This is a brilliant review.
Chris Dombrowski. Galaxie Wagon.
Darnell Arnoult. Place Called Maine. Wesley McNair. Elizabeth Seydel Morgan. Geraldine Connolly. Hungry Moon. Henrietta Goodman. Conrad Hilberry. The Door That Always Opens. Julie Funderburk. That Kind of Happy. Maggie Dietz.
Terror Trackers. Charmaine Cadeau. Sue Wheeler.
Braided Creek. Jim Harrison. Sure Signs. Flying At Night. Splitting an Order. Able Muse - a review of poetry, prose and art - Winter No. Alexander Pepple. Weather Central. I see that what he does is less significant than how he does it; that amid such elusive simplicity as these poems command are more complicated emotions, the secret stories of well-lived lives, and a poet behind the scenes who understands exactly what buttons to push to let the reader into them.
Kooser's poems reveal a mastery of gesture and detail that rivals the flawlessness of James Wright's "A Blessing. The plainest verbs capture the most vivid and lively scenes. Even more captivating is Kooser's patient, exact description; how he pauses at every detail to ensure that it is brought to such life as to exist at the edge of the reader's fingertips, as in the description of a painting in "At the County Museum":. Has clattered to a stop, but its waxy panels Are dusted each morning, as if it might be summoned.
Back into harness, to be hauled once again Through the wake of matched horses, the sweep. Of their tails, its oak spokes soberly walking, Each placed squarely in front of the next. Delights and Shadows includes many of these museum visits, reports of paintings that are as vibrant as Mary Cassatt's box of pastels, so vivid and precise as to step inside the paintings themselves. Kooser's knack for poems on painting comes full circle in a delicate series of poems called "Four Civil War Paintings by Winslow Homer," poems that occasionally indulge in the irresistible temptation to write poems about writing poems.
For the most part, the poems in Delights and Shadows are short, tightly wrapped things, as though gushing towards a final reflection from the poem's very first word.
Poet Laureate Ted Kooser. He was a big man, says the size of his shoes on a pile of broken dishes by the house; a tall man too, says the length of the bed in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man, says the Bible with a broken back on the floor below the window, dusty with sun; but not a man for farming, say the fields cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn. Kooser interprets his abandoned farmhouse in the same way curators hope museum visitors interpret artifacts carefully chosen to help tell a story.
I am interested in historic architecture.
Still, like Mr. Kooser, I think mostly of the people who once lived in these abandoned farmhouses. Who proudly stepped inside for the first time? What joy and anguish did the house once hold? How did the last occupants feel when they moved out?