Margaret W. Ferguson

I began reading this book as a detour to fill in some missing breadth between volumes of Jerome Rothenberg's Poems for the Millennium. I was waiting tables and apartment living with my girlfriend and two cats in Seattle. That was seven years ago. Today I finished the final page in my house while my wife, the same girlfriend from before, held our baby daughter and watched Beetlejuice with our son and two dogs. The cats are around but less interested in television than the aquarium. I'm not saying seven years of Milton and Auden and Hart Crane caused a life compounded with living beings but I'm not saying it didn't. This procreant era of my life happened with these poems and without them. Long stretches of not reading were as significant as the moments I would dive back in, remembering myself when I had forgotten crucial goals.

My copy is worn - reinforced with packing tape along the spine and cloudy white on the front and back pages where my hands held while I soaked in a bath; I do my best reading in water. So I lived through all these poems and I hardly remember them now but I didn't read them to have read them. My only takeaway is that I chose to live with poetry and I still like the choice. What I loved about this volume was how it generated a great to-read list of poets.… (meer)

I began reading this book as a detour to fill in some missing breadth between volumes of Jerome Rothenberg's Poems for the Millennium. I was waiting tables and apartment living with my girlfriend and two cats in Seattle. That was seven years ago. Today I finished the final page in my house while my wife, the same girlfriend from before, held our baby daughter and watched Beetlejuice with our son and two dogs. The cats are around but less interested in television than the aquarium. I'm not saying seven years of Milton and Auden and Hart Crane caused a life compounded with living beings but I'm not saying it didn't. This procreant era of my life happened with these poems and without them. Long stretches of not reading were as significant as the moments I would dive back in, remembering myself when I had forgotten crucial goals.

My copy is worn - reinforced with packing tape along the spine and cloudy white on the front and back pages where my hands held while I soaked in a bath; I do my best reading in water. So I lived through all these poems and I hardly remember them now but I didn't read them to have read them. My only takeaway is that I chose to live with poetry and I still like the choice. What I loved about this volume was how it generated a great to-read list of poets.… (meer)

At the end of the end of the 1960 film, The Time Machine, the hero, George Wells, returns to the future taking three books from his library with him. Viewers are left to ponder which three books he takes - it's never revealed. If it had been me, this would be one of the books.

The Norton Anthology is a part of who I am. It opened - and continues to open - doors into some of the great literary minds of our culture. A starting point from which you can go on and learn more (i.e., don't stop with this book!).

If there is any doubt about its greatness, let me show you that it contains as much of both the sacred and the profane as the Bible:

Alexander Pope:

"Know then thyself, presume not God to scan,

The proper study of mankind is Man.

Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,

A being darkly wise and rudely great:

With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,

With too much weakness for the Stoic’s pride,

He hangs between, in doubt to act or rest;

In doubt to deem himself a God or Beast;

In doubt his mind or body to prefer;

Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;

Alike in ignorance, his reason such,

Whether he thinks too little or too much;

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;

Still by himself abused or disabused;

Created half to rise, and half to fall:

Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;

Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d;

The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!"


Ogden Nash:

"The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk."

Genius, sheer genius.… (meer)