On April 5, 2000, I wrote my first and only Amazon review. 5 stars.
Having read most of Dunn’s poetry, and in particular, having read this book several times, I find that Dunn is a writer I can always come back to. His style is unique, and always gets to the crux of what seems to drive human actions. Not only are his poems accessible and inspiring but they exemplify why I read poetry.
This morning, just over twenty years later, I find myself sitting on my balcony re-reading these poems. I have returned to Dunn many times and have never been disappointed. There is an honesty in his work that elevates nearly everything he writes about. His way of writing absolutely sings to me, “Today I want my body to keep making its sloppy // requests. I’m out among the wayward dazzle / of the countryside”
There was about an hour of time this morning, before I sat to write this post when my mind felt absolutely on fire with everything… longing, memory, inspiration, hope, and observation. I described the sky as approaching translucence and tried to be funny in thinking in its thinness, it’s no wonder it can’t hold the anvil that falls on the coyote. There was something about the air this morning that reminded me of the deck at the shore house, or packing my things (ball and glove) as a ten-year-old about to go to recreation camp for the day (when that was all you needed for the day), or the feel when I just get out of the car for a hike, lacing up my boots and the smell of clean forest air. I wanted to bottle all of it. It felt a little like love when the only word I could muster was yeah. I took a few notes – I hope to turn it in to something. I fought the urge to grab my computer and start right away. I was caught somewhere between wanting to capture the moment and wanting to be in the moment. The longer I sat, the more I felt some of it slip away, and then return with a slightly different sensation or set of memories.
I read a few more poems, stopping after each one, looking, being, reflecting. April, 2000. I was 24 going on 25? No, 23 going on 24? While not yet married, I was living with the woman I would marry and doing the stepdad thing. I had already been reading Dunn for a few years. Absorbing his views on life and love, sadness and beauty. At times, he can be a real downer. “I was thinking of / the candle and the candle’s end / when you took your place at the table. / Of what to do when the words fail, / as they most surely will.” He seems to capture the longing and foreboding of the soul that is ever present. As I sat reading, I started to wonder what influence he’s had on me. Is it possible that he’s shaped the way I approach relationships – with this observant eye that wants to capture and appreciate all of the moments, good and bad? Has it created a level of negativity or skepticism that looks for those darker moments as a sign of a true connection and a way to reconnect… a constant process of building, tearing down, and building stronger? I’m guessing I first started reading him in 1995 or 1996. I had started a literary journal, was dating my high school sweetheart, listening to jazz in coffee shops, discovering blues music, dreaming of maybe being a poet. At the age of 20, what did I know of love or loss or the complexities of coming together after a fight or the hidden desires and hurts that go unsaid? At the age of 24? Now, at the age of 45?
I’ve been told that I’m a bit of an old soul. I remember coming across a dating profile that said “I have a happy personality with a heavy soul, sometimes it gets weird” That resonated with me. I like Vonnegut because he has a dry sense of humor and says things like “Life is no way to treat an animal” I’m not at all surprised that one of the deeper and more beautiful things I tried to share with my ex-fiancee, B, was a poem that said we will disappoint each other and that I hope to disappoint her better than anyone else has. Even in some of our bigger blow ups I saw the tremendous power of reconnecting authentically. I remember one night I went in to the city… we had had a few tense days, and B said all she wanted to do was walk and hold hands – find our way back to that place. At first it was awkward in that I was still holding on to whatever had upset me… in fact I’m not sure that it even worked that night. But thinking back on it, I can remember how everything softened with a simple touch. This is the poetry of Dunn (and Hass and Hoagland and a whole bunch of other contemporary poets). But for me, especially Dunn and his poetry of knowing, of being angry at each other for a day or night, of annoyances that after years fade to a casual acceptance, perhaps endearment. Every time I read him, I’m not going back to him (as my review suggested) but am coming back to myself.