The Poets are at Their Windows Again

One of my New Years resolutions is to read more. Of everything--magazines, literary magazines, poetry, fiction. One genre I've seriously neglected over the years is the writer's manual, figuring I could glean all its gems of wisdom from a more entertaining read. Who needs books about poetry when you've got the real deal?

Turns out there are interesting things in writer's manuals. Take this gem from Ted Kooser's The Poetry Home Repair Manual, which describes the balance a poem must strike between speaker and subject in terms of the poet's own reflection in a window:

"While choosing your words it is as if you were at a window looking out into the world. If the light that falls upon what lies beyond is very bright, you see the scene in vivid colors and there is only the faintest hint of your reflection in the glass. If the light beyond the window is faint, as at dusk, the speaker's reflection in the glass is much more prominent. The speaker notices both his or her reflection and the scene beyond. And if it has grown dark outside, dark enough to make a mirror of the window, the speaker, or presence, sees very little other than his or her own reflection."

Fiction writers are always flitting between interior and exterior landscapes. Poets, myself included, often feel the need to choose. But, Kooser says, you can have both worlds at once. In poetry, there is always a double image.

I work at a high school, which today in Nebraska means SNOW DAY. It's my second day off in a row, which has given me ample time to look over my reading list for this semester, as well as read a few things and order new books. Unfortunately, Amazon says my items won't ship for a couple weeks, and even then, I've sent them to my parents' house in another city to avoid the package pilfering that's been going on in my neighborhood lately. Two days cooped up in the house and no books? I'm getting impatient.

I shouldn't say "no books." I'm married to a philosopher, and between the two of us, we have a pretty impressive library. Last semester, I frequented public libraries to avoid the cost--both in terms of money and shelf space--of thirty new poetry books. This semester, though my list is equally long, I think I'm just going to go for it.

Here is my reading list for the semester, as suggested by my mentor, Zachary Schomburg:

Rust or Go Missing—Lily Brown

Sleeping and Waking—Michael O’Brien

When You Say One Thing but Mean Your Mother—Melissa Broder

Gringo Like Me—Jennifer Knox

Mommy Must Be a Fountain of Feathers—Kim Hyeson

After You Dearest Language—Marisol Limon Martinez

Say So—Dora Malech

Mint Snowball—Naomi Shihab Nye

Love About Love—CK Williams

Selenography—JM Wilkinson

Winter’s Journey—Stephen Dobyns

Black Life--Dorothea Lasky

Selected--Mary Ruefle

The Difficult Farm—Heather Christle

People are Tiny in Paintings of China—Cynthia Arrieu-King

Mouth in California—Graham Foust

Short Talks—Anne Carson

Bluets—Maggie Nelson

Texture Notes—Sawako Nakayasu

100 Notes on Violence—Julie Carr

Modern Life—Matthea Harvey

Next Life—Rae Armantrout

Selected—James Tate

The Tunnel—Russell Edson

Manifestos—Andre Breton

Dream Songs—John Berryman

This is only a suggested reading list (and, in truth, there's more to it). Still, I want to read as many of these titles as I can. Any favorites? MUST-buys?

Disclaimer

This is Just to Say

William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Since poets always have their hands in each other's pockets, I have decided to name this blog after a William Carlos Williams poem. I doubt I'm the first blogger to raid this old icebox, but I do have a few reasons.

1. I'm new to blogging and, like all rubes, immediately thought "THEME!"

2. I grew up with a plum tree in my backyard which has since diseased and died and left me more than a little nostalgic about all things plum and worm-infested.

3. I love this poem, which, like its image, is sweet and simple and yes, a little cold. It's an apology that is unapologetic, which is, quite frankly, exactly what I'm seeking in my own writing.

In other words, what I write here may suck or bore you--or quickly disappear entirely--but don't expect an apology.