From Publishers Weekly
As part and parcel of a gruffly expansive plain style, Stern has worked through his Jewish, Rust Belt and working-class roots in book after book, while remaining open to experience from anywhere. Those roots, and the rest of his personal history, dominate this winningly outspoken, if misleadingly titled, sequence, whose "sonnets" are really unrhymed, free-verse poems of 20 or so lines: most consist of a single, sinuous sentence exploring a single moment in Stern's past, "explaining what was opened in my life and what was destroyed," and linking his joys and travails to those of his generation. "Alone" remembers when "I wore two pairs of socks and hid my money"; "You" recalls "the smell of snow in 1940, mixed as it was with coal fumes." Clocks, dogs, dandelions, the Pennsylvania coal country, Manhattan, fellow writers, students, wives, parents, children, gangster cousins and even (in one vivid adaptation) Francois Villon receive exploration and homage. The one-long-sentence strategy avoids monotony by varying its tones, which include the comic ("A string-bean is born every second") and the raunchily sexual, as well as the mournful and the lyrical: he concludes with "a star of the fourth magnitude surrounded by planets, shining on all of us." Stern's verbal strategies land him, this time out, somewhere between W.S. Merwin and Philip Levine; their fans and the fans of Stern's previous verse will surely enjoy these very personal poems.
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.
From Library Journal
To a purist, these 20-something-line poems are only nominally sonnets, but National Book Award winner Stern (In Time, 1998) nevertheless appropriates the term to describe the 59 lyric vessels into which he has poured seven decades' worth of personal reminiscences and observations on everything from Studebakers to string beans. Some are marginal entries in a random diary recomposed after memory has lost the details ("I can't remember what the class trip was / I think we were going to visit the Samaritans"), while others attempt to archive what details remain ("I liked this hotel best because the swimming pool/ was on the roof"). At their best, they convey the irreducible essence of hard experiences ("Aberdeen Proving Grounds, 1946"), the tangible grit and abrasion of those periods that must be endured before the arrival of better days, as well as the pockets of solace that make such stretches bearable ("Sink"). Delivered with Stern's trademark candor and conversational intimacy, these poems are fitting footnotes to a life keenly lived. Fred Muratori, Cornell Univ. Lib., Ithaca, NY
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.