Complete poems, 1913-1962

Rating:
Summary: More than I could possibly describe
Review: Not being able to remember a first line, which could be easily found in the Index of First Lines starting at page 849, I just looked through hundreds of pages trying to find a poem whose last line is spread over seven lines on page 700. These poems are not always easy to read, and now that I have found this one, I would love to share it with anyone who might be interested:

as joe gould says in

his terrifyingly hu
man man
ner the only reason every wo
man

should

go to college is so
that she never can(kno
wledge is po
wer)say o

if i

'd
OH
n
lygawntueco

llege

Rating:
Summary: Good, I hope, for a polymorphously perverse heterosexist.
Review: There may be some problem, like am I being retro? with the way that I think about the poems in this book, because I tried to read the whole book more than twenty years ago, and was so impressed that when an Etcetera collection of additional poems came out in 1983, I bought that too. I'm not sure I know anyone now who would even consider reading a book this big if it was just poems. The big revelation in the 1913-1962 collection, as far as I was concerned, was the poem "the boys i mean are not refined," which was first published in a limited edition of nine copies in 1935, according to the first paragraph of the inside flap of the First American edition 1972 of Complete Poems 1913-1962, which I still have. That poem, in particular, taught me a lot about culture, and how someone (famous) who knew what culture was could know what could be said, while others might just "speak whatever's on their mind." This might be close to what the verses in Proverbs that try to describe the difference between a wise man and a fool are trying to say, and it was great to find that someone who might be considered almost as modern as myself could be sensitive to this kind of thing, almost like hearing John Prine wondering if it would be possible for him to still blush in some song he wrote.

Even I don't read much of this book at any one time, anymore, but I appreciate how well it stores its pleasures. One of the curiosities of poetry is that it can be incredibly difficult to find a poem unless the first line is the one that pops into the appropriate recall mechanism, whenever a poem is thought of, and this book has been around a long time because, even when I don't know if I will be able to find what I am looking for, it is interesting to look through it trying to find the last line of a great poem that was greater at the end than at the beginning. My favorite poem in this book starts out with "jake hates/all the girls" but the great thing is an unexpected rhyme scheme, which jumps around from bold, meek, sleek, cold in the first verse to lean, mean, clean, green in the last. Actually, this poem might be considered utterly devastating if there was anything personal about it, but thoughts about all the girls have been on the conscience of philosophy about as long as books have been maintained for the future, and it does my heart good to see a poet try to join in the mess surrounding this topic. What I mean is, I think this poem is good in a way that centuries of being modern might try to deny, but it is here, under a number 21 in a section titled XAIPE, originally published in 1950, when I was alive and maybe even speaking, if something reminded me of my mother. Actually, she might not like this poem, so I think it's funny, if anyone can understand the humor in that. These reviews aren't supposed to be by great critics; they are just supposed to say: buy this book.