| &&&&&& 
          
          
            
              | Reading and writing change people and change societies. It is not 
        always easy to see how nor to trace out the subtle map of cause and 
        effect that links such changes to their context. But we should make an 
        effort to do so. There is an important, unanswerable question here. Is 
        it a matter of co-incidence that the poets who invented Eros, making of 
        him a divinity and a literary obsession, were also the first authors in 
        our tradition to leave us their poems in written form? To put the 
        questions more pungently, what is erotic about alphabetization? This may 
        seem not so much an unanswerable as a foolish question, at first, but 
        let us look closer into the selves of the first writers. Selves are 
        crucial to writers. |  
              |  | Anne Carson from “Losing the Edge,”
 EROS THE BITTERSWEET
 |    &&&&&& Mary-Sherman Willis, a poet and a city 
        gardener, whose poems will appear in our next issue, writes: From 1996 until recently, Dennis Nurkse was the poet laureate of 
        Brooklyn. Like Brooklyn’s most famous poet, he is an American writing 
        poetry about America. But unlike that notorious yawper, Nurkse’s poems 
        make you go quiet to listen. His spare lines, absent of rhetorical 
        folderol and loaded with story, lift off over the terrain he likes to 
        revisit: war and a post-war childhood, immigration and assimilation (his 
        father, Estonian; mother, French), being a worker in the modern age, 
        marriage and parenthood, divorce. His poems are textured with the 
        blue-collar grit of his adopted borough. A while ago he said, “I’m a 
        lyric poet. When it’s consistent with the nature of a group of 
        individual poems, I order then in narrative, sometimes novelistic 
        sequences. My work is engaged with contemporary history. I admire Walter 
        Benjamin’s remark, to articulate the past historically…is to seize hold 
        of a memory as it wells up at a moment of danger.” His six books of poems are published under “D. Nurkse.” The most 
        recent is THE RULES OF PARADISE. I’m particularly fond of the fourth, 
        VOICES OVER WATER. It tells of an Estonian couple who emigrate to Canada 
        in the early part of the 20th century. It is heartbreakingly lyrical, 
        its imagery out of fairy tales. Here, in the voice of the wife, is “The 
        Oak Bed”: 
        The wedding sheet frayed under us so I cut it in four and sewed it back with the unworn edges at the center, and when that center became transparent I cut on the diagonal and sewed it back matching worn cloth with worn cloth until I had a mackerel sky of diamond rags, degrees of use, and still each night we’d sit at the edge of the mattress trembling with exhaustion and at last turn as if unwed, to that silence between us. D. Nurkse, SHADOW WARS (Hanging Loose Press,
        1988), ISOLATION IN 
        ACTION (State Street 
        Press, 1988), Staggered 
        Lights (Owl Creek Press, 1990); 
        VOICES OVER WATER (Four Way Books 
        1998); LEAVING XAIA (Four 
        Way Books, 2000), THE RULES OF PARADISE (Four Way Books, 
        2001); THE FALL: POEMS
        (Knopf, September 2002). |