Discovery/The Nation ’01 Prizewinners Discovery/The Nation ’01 Prizewinners
The Nation announces the winners of Discovery/The Nation, the Joan Leiman Jacobson Poetry Prize.
Apr 19, 2001 / Books & the Arts / Grace Schulman
The Summer House The Summer House
After a hard rain, a sudden clearing. Puddles shine on the gravel path Winding down to the meadow where smoky wisps Rise from the warm ground, low earth clouds That thin and vanish; and now The birds start up again, and the crickets. What if a happy life is only a long succession Of happy moments; if they come unbidden And the virtue that serves us best is simple readiness, Mere openness to the occasion, if the sycamore Swaying whenever the wind moves by Serves as our great exemplar, sage, and prophet? I hope not. I hope the efforts I've made To claim my life as my own and give it meaning Lead in the end to a happiness more alive And lasting than any that fortune offers Whenever she pleases, the random bounty Impossible to anticipate or encourage. My efforts, my patching of roofs and windows, The writing of invitations, the widening of my guest list, The mastery of guitar chords, the library work On the history of landscape in water color and oils, What exactly they add to the world of hills and valleys That the hills and valleys should be grateful for. And then this hard rain and sudden clearing, This low sun, these rosy clouds that I interpret As proof I'm included in the lucky flow of gifts Circling the earth, offering me a welcome Hard to resist, without conditions or reservations, With nothing expected of me, nothing to be earned.
Jan 18, 2001 / Books & the Arts / Carl Dennis
Unsolicited Survey Unsolicited Survey
Have you been there? If so, can you describe the shape of the shadows? When you entered, did anyone greet you? Did the moss hug your foot or a jay screech in your ear? Were you afraid you would not get back? Did they ring a bell? How many times, and what did it sound like? Did a horse bow its head by the side of a road? Did a single feather lie at the clearing? Did a green wave cascade into a grove? Did the flavor of light infect your sleep? Did a toad leap from the dust onto a twig? Did deer turn in terror as you passed? Did a doe lick your hand and find you wanting? Did you behold a flower that cannot fade? Was the sky so empty that you fell upward? Did the needles of a pine tickle your nose? Did you sniff the ghost of the cedars of Lebanon? Did you follow a petal blown to the edge of the sea? Did you wake with a sheet twisted around your throat? Did you call out? Did you kneel at a blade of grass or at the mound of an anthill? Did you ask for a way in or a way out? Did a bough sway imperceptibly? Did you rest your hand on the shoulder of a god? Did you open a piece of fruit and offer a portion of it to the sun? How long did it take to finish, and were you satisfied? Did a fly sip some water from a stone? Did you touch the haze on a plum, its blue cloud? Did you rub its skin until it lost its bloom? Did the day burn in a crow's eye? Were the stars so clear another heaven appeared behind them? Did you hear the wind consoling the leaves? Did you look inside the cap of a mushroom, and part the curtain of disbelief?
Dec 22, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Phillis Levin
The Fish in the Window The Fish in the Window
"The fish are in the fishman's window," the grain Is in the hall, "the hunter shouts as the pheasant falls." That shout rises from deep in Adam's chest. The great trawlers pull in the shining bodies. Horses' teeth rip night from sleepy day. We are all like Nebuchadnezzar on his knees. Because the greedy soul gained its teeth in the womb, More than one twin died in the safest place; We fell into the doctor's hands with haunted eyes. We inherited much when we inherited teeth. We will never have one whole day of peace. An old horse will die or a house will burn. Each evening we reach for our neighbor's food. Each night we crawl into imaginary beds; Each midnight we visit the darkness with Saturn. We can go on sitting in the Meeting House, But the greedy one in us will still survive. One cry from the crow contains a thousand more.
Dec 15, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Robert Bly
Life in Fluxus Life in Fluxus
John Lennon once characterized his wife, Yoko Ono, as the world's "most famous unknown artist. Everybody knows her name, but nobody knows what she does." What she was famous for,...
Nov 30, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Arthur C. Danto
Green Bee Green Bee
It was curled on the pavement, forehead to knees, as if it had died while bowing. Its stripes were citrine-yellow, and the black of a moonless starless, clea...
Nov 2, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Sharon Olds
Seducing the Sparrow (poem) Seducing the Sparrow (poem)
Why must the noble rose bristle before it blooms, and why must the frost declare allegiance to the dew? Don't tell me the robin's forlorn invit...
Nov 2, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Sam Hamill
My Crow, Your Crow My Crow, Your Crow
Crow light: I call it that at dawn when one wing, then this other, bursts in flame, catching the sun's rising. The stupid bird, dipping his hunk of bread into the water, does...
Oct 26, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Peter Cooley
Orient Expressed: Imagism Orient Expressed: Imagism
However varied their styles, poets writing in English today still rely on the early-twentieth-century Imagist principles of clarity, directness, presentative imagery and rhythm b...
Oct 12, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Grace Schulman
House Finches House Finches
To watch the pair of house finches that frequent the neighbor's feeder, I leave the charcoal blinds pulled up. The berry-splashed chest of the male-- each morning--make...
Oct 5, 2000 / Books & the Arts / John Poch