So, I ordered this book last week along with a few others, and of course
(as is is so often the case these days), I cannot remember the article,
review, or aside that led me to it and prompted me to buy it.
It has proved to be a wonderful and poignant book of poems, but also a
nearly spooky confluence of my own personal references and dear
touchstones.
Now, there are only 28 poems in this book, but Fairchild refers to so
many building blocks of me that I’m beginning to think he had me in
mind.
Attend:
Bernd Heinrich: I chose his “Winter World” as the first community-read at my library.
Donatello’s “David”: Just last week I brought down from my room my
lavishly photographed book of Italian artwork featuring beautiful
close-ups of that sculpture.
Orson Welles/Citizen Kane: Ask anyone, I’m an acolyte of 50 years.
Gunga Din: One of only a handful of poems I can recite.
Robert Penn Warren: My original poetry muse. His New & Selected Poems one of my first poetry purchases back in the day.
Saipan & Tinian: The Pacific Islands where my Dad piloted his P-47.
Lucky Strikes: His cigarettes that I would bike to the corner store to buy for him.
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat: I gave my son a gift copy of Sacks’ book just two weeks ago.
“Old Men Playing Basketball”: Me
That’s a petty dense occurrence of meaningful landmarks in one little book.
#booktalk