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Book of Hours: Poems Paperback – October 13, 2015
| Kevin Young (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
| Price | New from | Used from |
Enhance your purchase
- Print length208 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherKnopf
- Publication dateOctober 13, 2015
- Dimensions6.03 x 0.58 x 8.97 inches
- ISBN-100375711880
- ISBN-13978-0375711886
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"An impressively musical exploration of grief and endurance. . . . Young wrestles with loss and joy with enviable beauty and subtlety." —Publishers Weekly
"Young’s tone is always pitch-perfect in these poems." —Los Angeles Times
"In Young’s poems, loss is built into beauty, and while (for the most part) we take turns experiencing them, they never seem truly separate. As such, many of his poems are both sad and sweet, solemn and celebratory, reading like tender eulogies for whatever a father’s future can hold." —The Boston Globe
"I’ve read plenty of books about grief and about coming through grief in my life, but I’ve never before encountered a book that gets it as right as Kevin Young’s Book of Hours. It’s one of those rare reading experiences that I recognized, even as I read it, as a book I was going to buy over and over again, to give as a gift to friends who’ve had that certain hole cut out of them, the loss that you can recognize from a distance, even in the happiest of times." —The Stranger
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Behind his house, my father’s dogs
sleep in kennels, beautiful,
he built just for them.
They do not bark.
Do they know he is dead?
They wag their tails
& head. They beg
& are fed.
Their grief is colossal
& forgetful.
Each day they wake
seeking his voice,
their names.
By dusk they seem
to unremember everything—
to them even hunger
is a game. For that, I envy.
For that, I cannot bear to watch them
pacing their cage. I try to remember
they love best confined space
to feel safe. Each day
a saint comes by to feed the pair
& I draw closer
the shades.
I’ve begun to think of them
as my father’s other sons,
as kin. Brothers-in-paw.
My eyes each day thaw.
One day the water cuts off.
Then back on.
They are outside dogs—
which is to say, healthy
& victorious, purposeful
& one giant muscle
like the heart. Dad taught
them not to bark, to point
out their prey. To stay.
Were they there that day?
They call me
like witnesses & will not say.
I ask for their care
& their carelessness—
wish of them forgiveness.
I must give them away.
I must find for them homes,
sleep restless in his.
All night I expect they pace
as I do, each dog like an eye
roaming with the dead
beneath an unlocked lid.
Memorial Day
Thunder knocks
loud on all the doors.
Lightning lets you
inside every house,
white flooding
the spare, spotless rooms.
Flags at half mast.
And like choirboys,
clockwork, the dogs
ladder their voices
to the dark, echoing off
each half-hid star.
Greening
It never ends, the bruise
of being—messy,
untimely, the breath
of newborns uneven, half
pant, as they find
their rhythm, inexact
as vengeance. Son,
while you sleep
we watch you like a kettle
learning to whistle.
Awake, older,
you fumble now
in the most graceful
way—grateful
to have seen you, on your own
steam, simply eating, slow,
chewing—this bloom
of being. Almost beautiful
how you flounder, mouth full, bite
the edges of this world
that doesn’t want
a thing but to keep turning
with, or without you—
with. With. Child, hold fast
I say, to this greening thing
as it erodes
and spins.
Product details
- Publisher : Knopf; Reprint edition (October 13, 2015)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 208 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0375711880
- ISBN-13 : 978-0375711886
- Item Weight : 10.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 6.03 x 0.58 x 8.97 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #488,573 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #164 in Family Poetry (Books)
- #315 in Black & African American Poetry (Books)
- #936 in Love Poems
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Kevin Young is the author of six books of poetry, most recently Dear Darkness, named one of the Best Books of 2008 by National Public Radio’s All Things Considered, and winner of the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance Award in poetry. His book Jelly Roll: A Blues was a finalist for both the National Book Award and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and won the Paterson Poetry Prize. He is the editor of four other volumes, including Blues Poems, Jazz Poems, and the Library of America’s John Berryman: Selected Poems. The curator of literary collections and the Raymond Danowski Poetry Library and Atticus Haygood Professor of English and Creative Writing at Emory University, Young lives in Boston and Atlanta.
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Well, thankfully, I was not disappointed in the entire tome. Young depicts life, beautiful, tragic, funny, sad, in all its awkwardness and ennui and beauty, and I relate, deeply.
Excellent work. I am a fan. And I will be collecting his other works, as long as he keeps writing.
young, as poet, has a flair for the trivial day by day events, some of them seem a letdown coming after the strong previous poems. and then there are poems like Ruth in the section of the book entitled Body, which accurately catches in poetic form how it feels to be bedridden with a stubborn cold. a word on form. young favors a slender line of stanzas, usually tercets, three or four words per stanza, stanzas trimmed of fat.
It never ends, the bruise
of being—messy,
untimely, the breath
of newborns uneven, half
pant, as they find
their rhythm inexact
as vengeance.
the poems in the final section, Book of Hours, named after the book’s title, shows influences of emily dickinson and denise levertov, a poet with whom young studied. good poems, but dickinson spent a long solitary poet’s life crafting a peculiar vision which she never abandoned, something she did without publication or the support of a poetry community. with young i’m reminded of the tourists in colorful shirts in his poem The City of God, a well prepared tourist who’s studied up on the places he plans to visit but lacking the commitment to relocate and drop roots, an observation which applies to any poet influenced by dickinson working in the public sphere. not that dickinson wanted to work to isolation and few poets have that luxury for that high level of devotion to a calling. still, what young learned from dickinson, levertov, and numerous other poets before him, he’s mastered and found his way into what they call the literary canon.








