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Dear Darkness: Poems [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Poetry)
  • Author:  Young, Kevin
  • Author:  Young, Kevin
  • ISBN-10:  0307264424
  • ISBN-10:  0307264424
  • ISBN-13:  9780307264428
  • ISBN-13:  9780307264428
  • Publisher:  Knopf
  • Publisher:  Knopf
  • Pages:  224
  • Pages:  224
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-Apr-2010
  • Pub Date:  01-Apr-2010
  • SKU:  0307264424-11-SPLV
  • SKU:  0307264424-11-SPLV
  • Item ID: 101212220
  • List Price: $18.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Nov 27 to Nov 29
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

Delivered in Young’s classic bluesy tone, this powerful collection of poems about the American family, smoky Southern food, and the losses that time inevitably brings “bristles with life, nerve and, best of all, wit” (San Francisco Chronicle).
“Young is a fluent and bold interpreter of American culture and attitude, writing shrewd blues and droll lyrics that upend and undo catchphrases, familiar figures, and down-home habits.” —Booklist
Kevin Young is the author of five previous collections of poetry. The recipient of many honors and awards, including the Paterson Poetry Prize and a Guggenheim Fellowship, he is currently the Atticus Haygood Professor of English and Creative Writing and curator of the Raymond Danowski Poetry Library at Emory University in Atlanta.EulogyTo allow silenceTo admit it in usalways movingJust pastsenses, the darknessWhat swallows usand we live amongstWhat lives amongst us*These grim anchorsThat brief sanctitythe seaCast quite farwhen you seek—in your hats blackand kerchiefs—to bury me*Do not weepbut once, and a longtime thenThereafter eat tillyour stomach spills overNo more! you’ll crytoo full for your eyesto leak*The words will wait*Place me in a plainpine box I have beenfor years buildingIt is splintersnot silverIt is filled of hair*Even the tonguesof bells shall still*You who will bearmy body alongSpirit me into the sixDo not startleat its lack of weightHow lightI shall be releasedWhat we lovewill leave usor is itwe leavewhat we love,I forget—Today, bellyfull enoughto walk the blockafter all weektoo coldoutside to smile—I think of you, warmin your underground roomreading the bookof bone. It’s hard going—your body a deadlanguage—I’ve begunto feel, if nothope then whatcomes just after—or before—Let’s not call itregret, butthis weight,or weightlessness,or justplain waiting.The ice wantingagain water.Tl“2

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