James Wright (1) (1927–1980)

These are not the best poems you will ever read. They are repetitive, juvenile, and excessively obsessed with flowers and death. I find such vulnerability appealing, but even I had to chuckle a bit at the third or fourth nature allegory to the impermanence of a man's life. Hesse is a long-time favorite of mine, and I bought this book mainly to help complete my collection of his works, but this book is way down on the bottom of my list of Hesse favorites.

James Wright has done the world a service in translating this slight but potent volume of Hesse's verse. The dreamy tone and fantasy of Hesse's poems are well-reserved, and his lyricism shines brightly as ever through the translation. While some will find these poems to be simplistic, even juvenile, I think that seeming naivety and emotional honesty is exactly what gives them power. Where his novels explore the heights and depths of the mind and spirit, his poetry is pure, heartfelt and show more impulsive. My only disappointment is the meager size of the offering. I've no doubt that Wright chose well when selecting which poems to translate, but it would be nice to see a new talent take the baton and translate ALL of Hesse's poetry for an English audience.

"The Lake has died down,
The reed, black in its sleep,
Whispers in a dream.
Expanding immensely into the countryside,
The mountains look, outspread.
They are not resting.
They breathe deeply, and hold themselves,
Pressed tightly to one another.
Deeply breathing,
Laden with mute forces,
Caught in a wasting passion." show less

Starting with the disclaimer that I have absolutely no interest in dissecting poems with respect to rhyme, structure, symbolism, whether the author was suffering from a headache when he/she wrote it, and what-not. A poem either speaks to me (on whatever level) or it doesn't.

With Hesse, I was curious to see how his poetry compared to his novels and how his poetry reflected the themes of his novels, because to my mind Hesse's novels are works of beauty but they are also very complex. I've show more been trying to write a review of Steppenwolf for several months now and just don't know where to start...

Anyway, the great thing about this collection is that it is a complete collection of all of the poems that Hesse wanted to publish. I have not counted but there seem to be 700 of them and they are in chronological order. The order helps to relate the poems to different events in Hesse's life (if you want to do that) and to his novels.

What is stark with Hesse is there is not just the expected change in the themes and complexity of his work if you compare the early works with the later ones, but there is a marked differentiation of his approach to dealing with themes of darkness and isolation which interchange with other themes. The poems that tend to be on the "existential" side are the ones that draw me in most, simply because it seems Hesse doesn't need to try to compose them, they just seem to flow. It is this seemingly effortless expression of doubt, anger, frustration, anxiety and the simplicity in which he expresses them that are captivating.

By comparison, his love poetry (especially the early ones) kinda fail to persuade me that they were anything but writing exercises.

3.5* show less

So many poems about rivers, rain, flooding on the rainiest day in Michigan. These poems are elegiac, haunting and sorrowful. I have absolute respect for Wright as a poet & a few poems stood out as truly great such as "Willy Lyons" excerpt: "Willy was buried with nothing but a jacket/Stiched on his shoulder bones./It is nothing to mourn for./It is the other world."

My favorite of these poems is "Youth"

Strange bird,
His song remains secret.
He worked too hard to read books.
He never heard how show more Sherwood Anderson
Got out of it, and fled to Chicago, furious to free himself
From his hatred of factories.
My father toiled fifty years
At Hazel-Atlas Glass,
Caught among girders that smash the kneecaps
Of dumb honyaks.
Did he shudder with hatred in the cold shadow of grease?
Maybe. But my brother and I do know
He came home as quiet as the evening.

He will be getting dark, soon,
And loom through new snow.
I know his ghost will drift home
To the Ohio River, and sit down, alone,
Whittling a root.
He will say nothing.
The waters flow past, older, younger
Than he is, or I am. show less