Each Sunday, I post a brief introduction to a collection of poetry I've been loving. I include one poem that I think really sings. No review. No need. If it's here, you'll know I recommend it. If you have one to recommend (yours or someone else's), send it along. I'll do my best to be here every Sunday.
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Some words Ross Gay has no problem using in his poetry: grody, armpit, knuckleheaded, fuck, hot wings, chickenshit, horseshit, shit. Other words Ross Gay has no problem using in his poetry: xylem, supine, luminous, human, frail. What Ross Gay fills his poems with: love and light and wonder and joy -- even in pain, even in grief.
Who else could do this with the ordinary act of buttoning a shirt? The whole poem ("ode to buttoning and unbuttoning my shirt") is a bit long for here, but here's how it concludes:
two maybe three
times a day
some days
I have the distinct pleasure
of slowly untethering
the one side
from the other
which is like unbuckling
a stack of vertebrae
with delicacy
for I must only use
the tips
of my fingers
with which I will
one day close
my mother's eyes
this is as delicate
as we can be
in this life
practicing
like this
giving the raft of our hands
to the clumsy spider
and blowing soft until she
lifts her damp heft and
crawls off
we practice like this
pushing the seed into the earth
like this first
in the morning
then at night
we practice
sliding the bones home.
Want more? Go get a copy of Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, or click to hear the poet reading his own work. Or here to see more about his latest The Book of Delights.
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The best books spark the best conversations! If you have thoughts to share, please feel free to email me at sarabethwest52@gmail.com. I promise a reply.
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