Poems by
Stephen Burt
Graywolf Press
Minneapolis MN
Copyright © 2013
by Stephen Burt
96 pages,
softbound, $15
Review by Zvi A.
Sesling
Stephen Burt
is known for his poetry criticism and he is the quintessential poet as this
book proves. For the most part readers do not seek information when reading
poetry. What they do seek is something deeper – insight into something taken as
ordinary or every day. Sought also is
the conversion of the ordinary into the memorable. The true poet does this.
Then of
course, there is the not-so-ordinary and the poet who will title a poem Prothalamion With Laocoӧn Simulacrum, well, he should become a favorite of mine. I read
this book of poems and Stephen Burt became one of my favorites. Not only because of the poem so titled, not
only because of his poems of the Boston area, not only because of the sly
humor, but because Stephen Burt’s writing has every element that makes poetry a
pleasure to read.
His poems
bring fresh approaches to worn subjects, a personal passion that infects the
readers with a gasp of recognition as in Poem
of Six A.M :
One child
wakes up when the other has gone
back to bed,
if not to sleep. One more false dawn
or
Lead, lead on,
fortissimo washer and dryer, mechanical train
in our
unfinished basement: who else could play for me
your wild
snare, your floor tom and your gong,
their rough
polyrhythms, subordinate quarter and main
beat? Who
keeps the darks from turning gray for me?
and this one:
There is also
a song
made of
Cheerios, honey nut and multigrain,
oats, rice,
wheat, corn;
and barley.
Nobody should pay for me
we can afford
it. Soon I will enter a zone
of bananas and
yogurt and plastic forks, propane
tanks and
cheese wheels wrapped and set out on a tray for me.
Burt’s poetry
is worth the time for those who are tired of intellectualized
poems with
hidden meanings or secret messages, who hunger for more direct communication
with which they can associate.
In “when the sweet wind did gently kiss the
trees” the final stanza is like a punch to the midsection, hitting us where
we recognize ourselves:
you don’t just
decide/to become a different person,/but realize that you have become the
person you are—/not who you were, not who you want to be,/but something close
to them,/in exactly the way/ the new low-intensity streetlights come close to
the moon.
It has often
been said that poets need be storytellers and Burt’s understanding of that is
evident and compelling. Augmenting the
tenderness of his poetry is a degree of irony,
playfulness, sexiness and always devotion to his craft.
To close let
us look at the first eight lines of
Belmont Overture (Poem of Eight A.M.):
It’s about
settling down and settling in
and trying not to settle for,
about three
miles from the urban core,
where the not-quite-wild bald
turkey, looking so lost
and
inquisitive next to the stop for the 74,
peers into the roseless rosebush, up
at the pointless or
above one
townhouse’s steps, and the US
and floral and nautical flags flaunt
their calm semaphore.
The lines
embody the attributes of storytelling, irony and the devotion to the craft of
making poetry sing to the reader. As for
the playfulness and sexiness of Burt’s work,
you will have
to read the whole book to discover an American author who leads the way in
accessible poetry for the thinking person.
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