The Best of It: New and Selected Poems by Kay Ryan is my stand-out book this month. I first came across Ryan when she read at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival a couple of years ago. United States Poet Laureate from 2008 – 2010, her work is quirky, aphoristic. These short poems with their short lines are deceptively simple.
In a Q&A session at Aldeburgh she talked about what poetry meant to her: 'A poem is a brief moment of clarity.' The effect of reading her work is to clear a space in the head, to sharpen a thought.
Asked about her subject matter Ryan said, ‘The mind itself.’ Ryan is a philosopher of the everyday, catching the epiphany in the ordinary. There are large thoughts in these small poems. She seems to watch the mind at work and catch the thought process in the fewest words; the very opposite of Jorie Graham’s academic digressions, which I also love, but for different reasons.
Ryan also plays with cliché, rehabilitating tired words in poems such as, ‘Bitter Pill,’ ‘No Rest for The Idle’ and ‘Nothing Ventured.’ But I particularly enjoyed the poems that draw on the imagery of the natural world. Ryan calls herself a 'nature exploiter.' She’s not a nature poet in the way of fellow American, Mary Oliver. For Oliver experience in the natural world, its imagery, brings a spiritual quality to a poem. In a Ryan poem reference to natural phenomena is a way to reflect on down-to-earth human behaviours, as in, ‘Expectations,’ ‘Hailstorm’ and ‘The Edges of Time:’
Expectations
We expect rain
to animate this
creek: these rocks
to harbor gurgles,
these pebbles to
creep downstream
a little, those leaves
to circle in the
eddy, the stains
and gloss of wet.
The bed is ready
but no rain yet.
Hailstorm
Like a storm
of hornets, the
little white planets
layer and relayer
as they whip around
in their high orbits,
getting more and
more dense before
they crash against
our crust. A maelstrom
of ferocious little
fists and punches,
so hard to believe
once it's past.
The Edges of Time
It is at the
edges
that time thins.
Time which had been
dense and viscous
as amber suspending
intentions like bees
unseizes them. A
humming begins,
apparently coming
from stacks of
put-off things or
just in back. A
racket of claims now,
as time flattens. A
glittering fan of things
competing to happen,
brilliant and urgent
as fish when seas
retreat.
Though clearly influenced by Emily Dickinson, this work is distinctively Ryan. I am pleased to have discovered another kind of philosophical American woman; she makes interesting reading alongside Jorie Graham and Mary Oliver.
Again at Aldeburgh, Ryan said that her aim was to: 'Never make you feel heavier. A poem animates you, your cells the space between your cells. It adds oxygen.'
Reading this collection is to breathe fresh literary air, to oxygenate thoughts.
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