By Carl Dennis
From the winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the Ruth Lilly Prize
The poems in Carl Dennis's new assortment Another Reason suppose that our efforts to cause with ourselves and with others approximately what concerns to us are essential to get away the in basic terms inner most standpoint, to supply the homes we are living in with doorways and home windows. those poems enact a drama of tried persuasion, because the poet confers with himself, with intimates, and with strangers, if purely within the wish that by means of defining variations extra accurately one might be drawn right into a real discussion. because the poet asserts and questions his personal authority, encountering quite a lot of competing claims from different voices, we discover ourselves incorporated in a talk that deepens our thought of the human group.
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Extra info for Another Reason
You, in the bluejeans, laughing at your mother who wears hats, and at your father who rides airplanes with a briefcase watching his grammar? Will you ever be old and dumb, like your creepy parents? Not you, not you, not you, not you, not you, not you. Fête Festival lights go on in villages throughout the province, from Toe Harbor, past the Elbow Lakes, to Eyelid Hill when you touch me, there. " He didn't die. " The Raisin I drank cool water from the fountain in the undertaker's parlor near the body of a ninety-two-year-old man.
I Am the Fox The Alligator Bride The clock of my days winds down. The cat eats sparrows outside my window. Once, she brought me a small rabbit which we devoured together, under the Empire table while the men shrieked repossessing the gold umbrella. Now the beard on my clock turns white. My cat stares into dark corners missing her gold umbrella. She is in love with the Alligator Bride. Ah, the tiny fine white teeth! The Bride, propped on her tail in white lace stares from the holes of her eyes. Her stuck-open mouth laughs at minister and people.
The people of the markets, who touched their heads to the ground, changed into clumps of weed among the gutters of the bare hill. The King and Queen rule over the dark nation of thrones. As slowly as a river builds a delta, they have become still. Henry Moore "Reclining Figure" Then the knee of the wave turned to stone. By the cliff of her flank I anchored, in the darkness of harbors laid-by. Henry Moore Digging One midnight, after a day when lilies lift themselves out of the ground while you watch them, and you come into the house at dark your fingers grubby with digging, your eyes vague with the pleasure of digging, let a wind raised from the South climb through your bedroom window, lift you in its arms —you have become as small as a seed— and carry you out of the house, over the black garden, spinning and fluttering, and drop you in cracked ground.