Enga mellom fjella

Reading Ted Kooser

Selecting A Reader

First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.

--- Ted Kooser

In January

Only one cell in the frozen hive of night
is lit, or so it seems to us:
this Vietnamese café, with its oily light,
its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.
Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.
Beyond the glass, the wintry city
creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.
A great wind rushes under all of us.
The bigger the window, the more it trembles.

--- Ted Kooser

From: http://www.poemhunter.com/ted-kooser/ where you will find more.

Now, wouldn't we all love to write poetry like this! And have readers like the one Ted Kooser depicts! His depiction of common people and common life in the Mid-West totally floors me. I had the honor of hearing him speak at the University of Kansas a couple years ago.

He came to mind today as I read the blog of wayfarerjon who in his bio-block states: "I'm a happily married grandfather and live in a coastal village in Cornwall, England."

In today's entry he explains his absence due to cancer. I responded:

Here they have now decided not to treat prostrate cancer unless it is aggressive as you state. Hard to go thorough at any age. Being older hopefully brings perspective and wisdom but not necessarily the physical strength to get through.

So, good to have you back.

Ted Kooser, poet from Nebraska, Poet Laureate of the U.S. a few years ago, survived stage 4 cancer. He was too sick to write and was only able to take morning walks due to chemo. He decided to write postcards to a fellow poet and friend:

Winter Morning Walks: One Hundred Postcards to Jim Harrison. (2001).

The poems are short ... it was all he could manage. But he got through it and published the book. It was after that, that he became Poet Laureate and since has published more poetry (there is a subtle shift post-cancer). He writes mostly about the people and landscape of the cornfields of the MidWest. He'll be 70 in April.

He is an example of a poet who 1. did not live in academia and 2. has written awesome poetry at a later stage in life.

So, if you have read this far, please go visit Jon in Cornwall. (We are so blessed. Ever been to Cornwall? I haven't! Bet most folks in England haven't either.)

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Penzance, Cornwall: 43.7 °F and Haze at 20:20 GMT

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