My Alexandria

This book of poems had sat on my shelf for years waiting to be read. I'd heard that it referred to the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. I thought I knew what it was about - on the cover of the book, the ruins, men sitting on great toppled stones, half broken walls rising above and pierced with holes for windows that looked on nothing. I was prepared for something painfully lovely, for words that enfolded and crushed until the chest ached. What I wasn't prepated for: snow.

...white cargo sifting
equally all night onto roofs
and lilacs, fenceposts and streets.
We're the shook heart of the paperweight,
the glass village falling forever
through the steady arms
of the snow, which touch us,
each pair, just once,
then let us go....

How many small perceptive show more moments these poems have - quiet, introspective, precise. There's grief here, terrible grief .. not a scream in darkness but instead an empty pair of jeans, dogs and cats that must be given up, a young woman in a hospital. The grief is genuine and felt, very affecting but far from hopeless. For example, this beautiful excerpt of "Night Ferry":

Twelve dark minutes. Love,
we are between worlds, between
unfathomed water and I don’t know how much
light-flecked black sky, the fogged circles
of island lamps. I am almost not afraid
on this good boat, breathing its good smell
of grease and kerosene,
warm wind rising up the stairwell
from the engine's serious study.
There's no beautiful binding
for this story, only the temporary,
liquid endpapers of the hurried water,
shot with random color. But in the gliding forward's
a scent so quick and startling
it might as well be blowing
off the stars. Now, just before we arrive,
the wind carries a signal and a comfort,
lovely, though not really meant for us:
woodsmoke risen from the chilly shore.

What a lovely book of poems this was! I wish I hadn't waited so long to read it. show less

Tender, passionate, and very intelligent.