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Mark
Strand , Blizzard of One
Winner
of the Pulitzer Prize
Expanded
UK Edition
96
pp, ISBN 1-904130-15-1, £8.95 (paperback), Publication,
April 26th 2005
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for on-line credit/debit card orders
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A
note about Blizzard of One
Strand's poems occupy a place that exists between abstraction
and the sensuous particulars of experience. It is a place created
by a voice that moves with unerring ease between the commonplace
and the sublime. The poems are filled with "the weather of
leavetaking," but they are also unexpectedly funny. The erasure
of self and the depredations of time are seen as sources of sorrow,
but also as grounds for celebration. This is one of the difficult
truths these poems dramatize with stoicism and wit. The winner
of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, Blizzard of One is an
extraordinary book he summation of the work of a lifetime
by one of our very few true masters of the art of poetry. And
to the contents of the US edition, Waywiser has been able to add
eleven new poems: "Man and Camel", "Mother and
Son", "Cake", "Marsyas", "Mirror",
"Black Sea", "2002", "2032", "Elevator",
"The Webern Variations", "Poem After the Seven
Last Words".
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A
note on Mark Strand
Mark
Strand was born in Summerside, Prince Edward Island, Canada, in
1934, and was raised and educated in the United States and South
America. He is the author of eleven books of poems, including
Dark Harbor (1993), The Continuous Life (1990),
The Late Hour (1978), The Story of Our Lives (1973),
and Sleeping with One Eye Open (1964). He has also published
three books of prose, three volumes of translations, two monographs
on contemporary artists, and three books for children. He has
edited a number of volumes, including The Making of a Poem
(2000), The Golden Ecco Anthology (1994), The Best American
Poetry 1991, and Another Republic: 17 European and South
American Writers (with Charles Simic, 1976). His honors include
the Bollingen Prize, the Bobbit Prize, three grants from the National
Endowment for the Arts, the Edgar Allen Poe Prize, a Rockefeller
Foundation award, and the Wallace Stevens Prize, as well as fellowships
from The Academy of American Poets, the MacArthur Foundation,
and the Ingram Merrill Foundation. He has served as Poet Laureate
of the United States and is a former Chancellor of The Academy
of American Poets. He currently teaches in the Committee on Social
Thought at the University of Chicago.
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Reviews
of Blizzard of One
The
New York Review of Books
"Mark
Strand's poems, like John Ashbery's, can be read with great and
almost dreamy pleasure.... " John Bayley
Publishers Weekly
"Since
Yeats linked the labor to be beautiful with the work
of poetry, no poet has taken the link more to heart, or made handsomer,
more stylish poems out of mirror-gazing, than former Poet Laureate
Mark Strand ... Whether in the charming monologues of Five
Dogs, the moving elegy In Memory of Joseph Brodsky
or the dream-memoir of his social circle, The Delirium Waltz,
Strand insists on the failure of poetry to preserve our reflections
or to reanimate the ghosts of memory and loss. Time slips
by, he writes in The Next Time, our sorrows
do not turn into poems, / And what is invisible stays that way.
Desire has fled, / Leaving only a trace of perfume in its wake,
/ And so many people we love have gone. The frank, elegiac
brio and easy swing of lines like these have always distinguished
Strands work, and they have never sounded more seductive
... [T]his wonderful, varied new collection also shows a wit reminiscent
of John Ashbery, private, hard to pin down, addicted to deferrals
and dying falls. If there is something scandalous in Strands
gorgeous, unabashed nostalgia or erotic melancholy, the scandal
is how inescapable these modes remain, for us and for one of our
most deeply enjoyable poets.
Kirkus
Reviews
"Former
Poet Laureate, and a writer in a number of genres, this University
of Chicago professor and much-honored poet has developed over
the years an aesthetic much his own: the discursive, easy surfaces
of his quiet, gently surreal poems accumulate into a complex metaphysic,
a notion of time and space that permeates his every utterance,
whether abstract or concrete. And his poems teem with simple actions
and things: a dog barks, a snowflake melts, a ship sails. Strand
can't escape the momentary nature of experience: In the revelatory
'Suite of Appearances', he captures the fluidity of the self and
reminds us that the history of ourselves leaves us cold, the past
means nothing to our ever-present nowness. Risking tautology,
Strand suggests that the self is both a disguise and not one,
that all things are wronged / By representation, an idea that
helps explain his precise diction, however wronged the object
he hopes to describe. Poem after poem exults in the pleasures
of daily life and the clarity of immediate experience, which makes
his elegy to Joseph Brodsky an awkward remembrance, a measure
of meanwhile."
Booklist
"Strand
almost gives himself over to the sway of emotion, but remains
reserved instead, polite, stoic, and elusive. This tension between
abandon and control is expressed in the stylistic duality of his
poems, which seem offhanded and proselike but which turn out to
be breathtakingly lyric. He tells us that nothing we're apt to
strive for really matters, that everything just comes and goes,
like wind, like breath, like love. What makes our spinning existences
beautiful and precious are moments of repose, reflection, and
wonder, like the scene in 'A Piece of the Storm,' the source of
the collection's title, in which a single snowflake makes its
way into one room and the awareness of one person. Another title
could serve as Strand's credo, 'Our Masterpiece Is the Private
Life,' a concept he further explores in 'A Suite of Appearances'
by observing that 'we clear a space for ourselves.' This space,
this refuge, is where poignancy and poetry live, and where Strand
waxes and wanes like his totemic celestial body, the moon."
Donna Seaman
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From
Blizzard of One
In
Memory of Joseph Brodsky
It
could be said, even here, that what remains of the self
Unwinds into a vanishing light, and thins like dust, and
heads
To a place where knowing and nothing pass into each other,
and through;
That it moves, unwinding still, beyond the vault of brightness
ended,
And continues to a place which may never be found, where
the unsayable,
Finally, once more is uttered, but lightly, quickly, like
random rain
That passes in sleep, that one imagines passes in sleep.
What remains of the self unwinds and unwinds, for none
Of the boundaries holds neither the shapeless one
between us,
Nor the one that falls between your body and your voice.
Joseph,
Dear Joseph, those sudden reminders of your having been
the places
And times whose greatest life was the one you gave them
now appear
Like ghosts in your wake. What remains of the self unwinds
Beyond us, for whom time is only a measure of meanwhile
And the future no more than et cetera et cetera ... but
fast and forever.
Black
Sea
One
clear night while the others slept, I climbed
the stairs to the roof of the house and under a sky
strewn with stars I gazed at the sea, at the spread of it,
the rolling crests of it raked by the wind, becoming
like bits of lace tossed in the air. I stood in the long
whispering night, waiting for something, a sign, the approach
of a distant light, and I imagined you coming closer,
the dark waves of your hair mingling with the sea,
and the dark became desire, and desire the arriving light.
The nearness, the momentary warmth of you as I stood
on that lonely height watching the slow swells of the sea
break on the shore and turn briefly into glass and disappear
...
Why did I believe you would come out of nowhere? Why with
all
that the world offers would you come only because I was
here?
©
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