Major Jackson
Auteur van Hoops: Poems
Werken van Major Jackson
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The Golden Shovel Anthology: New Poems Honoring Gwendolyn Brooks (2017) — Medewerker — 17 exemplaren
Tagged
Algemene kennis
- Officiële naam
- Jackson, Major
- Geboortedatum
- 1968
- Geslacht
- male
- Nationaliteit
- USA
- Geboorteplaats
- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
- Woonplaatsen
- South Burlington, Vermont, USA
- Beroepen
- dichter
- Prijzen en onderscheidingen
- Whiting Writers' Award (2003)
Academy of American Poets Fellowship (2023)
Leden
Besprekingen
Prijzen
Misschien vindt je deze ook leuk
Gerelateerde auteurs
Statistieken
- Werken
- 10
- Ook door
- 23
- Leden
- 269
- Populariteit
- #85,899
- Waardering
- 3.9
- Besprekingen
- 4
- ISBNs
- 21
All of the poems I read were, of course, excellent in their own ways. It is a mix of approaches, language and form. Some take a light approach to make their points, some are somber and powerful. I noted nine 'favorite' poems/poets via dog-earing pages. The poets are: Margaret Atwood, Joshua Bennett, Carl Dennis, Edward Hirsch, Didi Jackson, Ilya Kaminsky, Sharon Olds, Tracy K Smith and Kevin Young. Four of these— Atwood, Dennis, Hirsch & Olds—have been around a long time and are familiar to me; the other five have been born since 1970 and only Kaminsky and Smith were familiar (I probably recognized about a third of the poets in the collection). That’s a gain of three newbies to investigate! I can’t reproduce all my favorites here, but I’ll list the titles in case one wants to attempt finding them online, and reproduce the two shortest, both of which seem to say so little, but so much about where we are today.
My nine faves:
Atwood: “An Update on Werewolves”
Bennett: “America Will Be”
Dennis: “Armed Neighbor”
Hirsch: “Stranger by Night”
Jackson: “The Burning Bush”
Kaminsky: from “Last Will and Testament”
Olds: “Rasputin Aria”
Smith: “The Greatest Personal Privation”
Young: “Hive”
“Stranger by Night” by Edward Hirsch
After I lost
my peripheral vision
I started getting sideswiped
by pedestrians cutting
in front of me
almost randomly
like memories
I couldn’t see coming
as I left the building
at twilight
or stepped gingerly
off the curb
or even just crossed
the wet pavement
to the stairs descending
precipitously
into the subway station
and I apologized
to every one
of those strangers
jostling me
in a world that had grown
stranger by night.
(originally published in the Threepenny Press)
“Hive” by Kevin Young
The honey bees’ exile
is almost complete.
You can carry
them from hive
to hive, the child thought
& that is what
he tried, walking
with them thronging
between his pressed palms.
Let him be right.
Let the gods look away
as always. Let this boy
who carries the entire
actual, whirring
world in his calm
unwashed hands,
barely walking; bear
us all there
buzzing, unsung.
(From Poem-A-Day)… (meer)