By Marilyn Hacker
A range of poems that addresses the quotidian and the worldwide, from considered one of our so much crucial poets.
Drawing on twenty years worthy of award-winning poetry, Marilyn Hacker's beneficiant decisions in A Stranger's reflect comprise paintings from 4 prior volumes in addition to twenty-five new poems, ranging in locale from a solitary bed room to a refugee camp.
In a multiplicity of voices, Hacker engages with translations of French and Francophone poets. Her poems belong to an city global of cafés, bookshops, bridges, site visitors, demonstrations, conversations, and solitudes. From there, Hacker reaches out to different websites and personas: a refugee camp at the Turkish/Syrian border; contrapuntal monologues of a Palestinian and an Israeli poet; intimate and overseas exchanges abbreviated on Skype—perhaps with gunfire within the background.
These poems direction via sonnets and ghazals, via sapphics and syllabics, via each historic-organic trend, from renga to rubaiyat to Hayden Carruth's "paragraph." every one is usually an implicit dialog with the poets who got here ahead of, or who're writing as we read.
A Stranger's reflect isn't really intended just for poets. those poems belong to a person who has sought in language an expression and extension of his or her engagement with the world—far off or up shut because the morning's first cup of tea.
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Additional resources for A Stranger's Mirror: New and Selected Poems 1994-2014
A coarse canvas of an orange, a lemon, Local deep-red tomatoes, two Fauve asters, Globes and rays, Designed like a reclining cross. A naked woman and baby painted curled On a mat, lacking a blanket, a portrait Of what all skin remembers And forgets. I walked from painting to painting, I watched this woman's Earth pigments growing thicker, more free, More experimental, Force augmented, it seemed, every year. "The strength with which a subject Is grasped, that's the beauty of art" She wrote in her diary.
Of course I do, I am supposed to, but listen, loveliest. I want to be a shrub, you a tree. I hum inaudibly and want you To sing arias. I want to lie down At the foot of your mountain And rub the two dimes in my pocket Together, while you dispense treasure To the needy. I want the gods Who have eluded me All my life, or whom I have eluded, To invite you regularly To their lunches and jazz recitals. Moreover I wish to stand on the dock All by myself waving a handkerchief, And you to be the flagship Sailing from the midnight harbor, A blue moon leading you outward, So huge, so public, so disappearingI beg and beg, loveliest, I can't Seem to help myself, While you quiver and pull Back, and try to hide, try to be Invisible, like a sensitive Irritated sea animal Caught in a tide pool, caught Under my hand, can I Cut off my hand for you, Cut off my life.
The fact is, I was raped, and stayed Alive by my wits, in spite of the guy's Six-inch knife, nor for A moment do I think Rape is a fate Worse than death, what an absurd Notion, nor were you Even home, at the time, to "protect" Me-can it be that not "protecting" Me is what's bugged you for What is it, ten years? What is this love of death among you men? Why not wish I died? Why Should anybody at all die? Fact: You weren't there, it wasn't your fault, I stayed alive, I saved myself From death then, from self-loathing later That wanted to suck me into its toilet Wanted to clothe me in slime if I'd let it.