Your Web browser is not enabled for JavaScript. These are the kinds of things I don’t need to know about the people whose writing I enjoy. [are] surprising and fresh, keeping the reader slightly off-kilter...As the poems swerve between images and ideas, meaning and sound, white space and the black ink of a line--between surface action and metaphorical depths--the attentive reader will see a glimmer of secret life." She asks the necessary questions hiding just beneath the obvious ones...Pithy poems manage to encapsulate far more than their few words should hold...Sassy, smart and deep as they are hilarious, Ryan's poems are among the best." Ah! The best of it : new and selected poems. Longfellow wrote this piece in 1838. Despite her desert beginnings, she cannot disavow her own talent and taste, her intelligence and achievement . From a life that has not been easy, she has mined nuggets that add to American poetic wealth." --David Mason, The Hudson Review "Ryan's poems are consistent delights. Here are her own selections of more than two hundred poems, offering both longtime followers and new readers a retrospective of her earlier work as well as a generous selection of new poems. --John Freeman, Los Angeles Times "Ryan is one of the few contemporary poets to have imitators because she is one of the few truly compelling stylists now at work. Sehr gut. [Click here and you shall see what I wrote about Kay Ryan, back when.] Subsequently in the mood to look at lunar marias–and who among us has not been in the mood to look at lunar marias of an evening? Her work has the kind of singularity and sustained integrity that are very, very rare." The poem is not a thing we see - it is, rather, a light by which we may see - and what we see is life. James H. Billington, Librarian of Congress "Kay Ryan can take any subject and make it her own. All the parts of a poem exist as a sort of plasma, simultaneously apprehended, existing in the mind all at once, as soon as we have become familiar with them. And in the very best examples, Ryan's poems do precisely that." --Stephen Burt, San Francisco Chronicle "The Best of It is a generous and nearly career-spanning collection of her verse, a greatest-hits album of a sort...you can't help consuming [her] poems quickly, the way you are supposed to consume freshly made cocktails: while they are still smiling at you. ~Robert Penn Warren Poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. My mother joined me, and after a time, my father. “Pip pip,” I said at last; “it was the lunar eclipse, in February.” And I remembered how cold it had been, and how I had called my sister, and how when I got off the train that night, near-to-swooning with impatience to get home and set up shop, all the people waiting for the bus on the street-level were standing with their backs to the moon, and I wanted to tell them to look up look up look up, and to be the Paul Revere of exciting outer space moments visible to the naked eye. This is the point at which Hopkins compels us to take off our clothes and enter his river. The Large Hadron Collider is finally, sort of officially and at half-speed, up and running. See how Hopkins has increased the tenderness in this lesson: “Now no matter, child, the name.” His voice is holding us tenderly to him, instructing us: he bewitches us with the sorcery of “nor,” “no,” “nor,” then he clubs us with “blight.” If the word had been, say, “fate”—“It is the fate man was born for”—I think the whole poem would collapse. On nice days I read his poem “Baited Sonnet” in the Boston Review, and I liked four lines of it very much, and looked for more Brian Henry poems, but they were never quite what I wanted them to be. Her poems--which combine extreme concision and formal expertise with broad subjects and deep feeling--could never be mistaken for anyone else's. As with so much Hopkins, this poem is preposterously beautiful. wait, cannot Here in line nine is the turn of this not-sonnet: “And yet you will weep and know why.” Now the separation of Hopkins from the young girl is reversed. Then there was the scene with the puppetry. By now we are used to the rhymes, the syntactical inversions (worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie) and the new words he’s created. We decided that JPII was waiting for the Polish delegation to arrive at the gates of heaven. INTERVIEWER. MY BROTHER BEN: The tomb is empty, Mom. Please re-enter recipient e-mail address(es). Do you think George Washington would be happy, knowing that I’m not allowed to buy sparklers? And in the very best examples, Ryan's poems do precisely that." of their landing so random. It was published in Knickerbocker’s and then later appeared in his volume Voices of the Night.Throughout the poem, Longfellow makes use of the night sky, as well as everything it contains, to speak on loneliness, and generalized human pain. If we are not compelled to submit in some way to a poem it cannot change us. Margaret, are you grieving The poem, Home to Roost, was created by Kay Ryan who is considered to be on of the most original voices in contemporary poetry. This poem, “Spring and Fall,” has reminded me of why I want to continue to try to write poems. And then–of a sudden!–we did, and we’ve been talking about her for days, up to and including this weekend in the merciless sun at Pitchfork Music Festival [another story entirely, and one that I’m too tired in the head to write]. It is Indra’s net, everywhere is the center, reflecting all. Subscribe to Wheat, Not Oats, Dear, by e-mail. the commanding I am grateful to it. . Come and drink a cup of grog with me! And so it’s all right to collect four lines of a poem and leave it at that. Man, I love metaphors. Now comes the achievement of the unachievable when Hopkins’s syntax goes all squirrely with the “nor, no, nor” thing. --Adam Kirsch, The New Yorker "Ryan's oblique humor runs from grim to whimsical, from delighted to sardonic . The event will take place at the New School’s auditorium (Room A106), the Alvin Johnson/J.M. They aren’t crisp and rattly and gold; they are a pale paste. . Its difficult syntax compels its reader to submit to its world almost immediately. poems in Ryan's "The Best of It" offer a stunning retrospective of her work. Filed under Kay Ryan, Math and Science: General, My Parents, My Roommate, Poetry, Stirring World Events, Tagged as "Poland Is Not Yet Lost", Easter Vigil, Grim O' Meter, Sound of Music, the tomb is empty, they do not get hot, ununseptium. City boys never see it. “I would rather sit at home in my snowsuit,” you might as well say, and you wouldn’t say that. In terribly exciting poetry news, James H. Billington, the librarian of Congress [I love saying “James H. Billington, the librarian of Congress” so much it gives me nosebleeds] has named our new poet laureate, Kay Ryan! --Publishers Weekly (starred review) "When she's at the top of her game, [Ryan] has the uncanny ability to construct a tiny word-mechanism that produces the experience of genuine wonder...In the utter complexity of her vision and lyricism, I'm reminded of those mechanical devices of the ancient world meant to show us our place among the stars and help us navigate the uncharted darkness beyond. We are now prepared for the development of the feeling of division in these next two couplets. The men wore suits and smoked. They had the door propped open, and many voices floated out onto the street. Filed under Annie Dillard, Brian Henry, Kay Ryan, Poetry, Tagged as abandon waiting, deep tracks, James H. Billington, the moon, whole heaps. Corners -- Star block -- Mockingbird -- A hundred bolts of satin -- The excluded animals -- Blandeur -- Composition -- Patience -- Coming and going -- Nothing ventured -- That will to divest -- Winter fear -- Grazing horses -- Waste -- Forgetting -- The fourth wise man -- Beasts -- Gaps -- The fabric of life -- Help -- The pass -- The pieces that fall to earth -- Don\'t look back -- It\'s always darkest just before the dawn -- Blunt -- Diamonds -- Herring -- The silence islands -- Cheshire -- Yeses -- Great thoughts -- Test -- Crown -- Bad day -- Among English verbs -- Lime light -- Why we must struggle -- Drops in the bucket -- The job -- Dutch -- Chemise -- Deferred silence -- Attention -- Failure -- Matrigupta -- Weakness and doubt -- Failure 2 -- Two more, and up goes the donkey -- Water under the bridge -- Your face will stick -- And all becomes as before.\"@, Flamingo watching 1994.

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