I’ve
read a lot of poetry over my lifetime, and likely more in the last 10 years
than the rest combined. Rarely have I been as taken with a collection as I have
with Christian Wiman’s Once
in the West: Poems.
The
poems originate in Wiman’s childhood and coming of age in Texas. They extend
beyond that, into the reader’s mind and own experience, a collection of sharp,
piercing stones with cutting edges that leave blood on the floor – the blood of
life and of a life lived.
Some
may mind the occasional profanity. I didn’t, and it surprised me that I didn’t.
I’ll
have more to say later, but here is one example of a poem from the collection.
Calculus
A
soul
extrapolated
from
the body’s
need
needs
a body
of
loss
is
that, then,
what
we were
given
in
that back-
seat,
sweat-
soaked,
skin-
habited
heaven
of
days
when
rapture
was
pure
beginning
and
sinning
praise?
Related:
Photograph by Silviu Firulete via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
4 comments:
Wiman is an incredible poet. I read and re-read his work.
this gorgeous sample settles it - i'm ordering some today. thank you, glynn.
Couple his book My Bright Abyss with Once In The West and he is becomes a comrade to this poet wannabe. I like the blood image. If poetry doesn's lacerate in some way it can't reach the soul.
Isn't it fascinating that both Wiman and Gregory Orr had similar catastrophic trauma in childhood? Their words have a mystic authority...
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