New Selected Poems

Overview

From Sleeping with One Eye Open (1964) through the wonderful middle work that includes The Continuous Life (1990) and crowned by the Pulitzer Prize–winning Blizzard of One (1998) and his most recent new collection, Man and Camel (2006), this book gives us an essential selection of Mark Strand’s poetry from across the entire span of his remarkable career to date.
Read More Show Less
... See more details below
Paperback (Reprint)
$18.16
BN.com price
(Save 21%)$23.00 List Price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (17) from $8.50   
  • New (10) from $12.68   
  • Used (7) from $8.50   
Sending request ...

Overview

From Sleeping with One Eye Open (1964) through the wonderful middle work that includes The Continuous Life (1990) and crowned by the Pulitzer Prize–winning Blizzard of One (1998) and his most recent new collection, Man and Camel (2006), this book gives us an essential selection of Mark Strand’s poetry from across the entire span of his remarkable career to date.
Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“The first panoramic view of . . . a poet who has mattered deeply to poets and readers alike. Strand’s is one of the contemporary voices that will not fade.” —Publishers Weekly

New Selected Poems is a necessary book . . . Among the best work by any living poet.” —Dan Chiasson, The New Yorker
Publishers Weekly

Strand's 1980 Selected Poems has probably long had a home on most contemporary poetry readers' shelves. That book proclaimed Strand's status as a major poet writing in a sometimes surreal, humorous, oracular mode: "If a man gives up poetry for power/ he shall have lots of power." This new volume extends that book to encompass the intervening two and a half decades and four collections of poems. From youthful masterpieces like the famous "Keeping Things Whole" ("In a field/ I am the absence/ of field") through the haunting middle work of Darker("The future is not what it used to be./ The graves are ready. The dead/ shall inherit the dead") up to the self-conscious vignettes of the Pulitzer Prize-winning Blizzard of One("It was clear when I left the party/ That though I was over eighty I still had/ A beautiful body") and last year's Man and Camel("The wonder of their singing,/ its elusive blend of man and camel, seemed/ an ideal image for all uncommon couples"), this important book offers the first panoramic view of the ongoing career of a poet who has mattered deeply to poets and readers alike. Strand's is one of the contemporary voices that will not fade. (Sept.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780375711275
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 1/13/2009
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 795,261
  • Product dimensions: 8.42 (w) x 5.84 (h) x 0.83 (d)

Meet the Author

Mark Strand has received numerous honors and awards, including a MacArthur Fellowship and the Pulitzer Prize. In 1990 he was named Poet Laureate of the United States. A longtime resident of Chicago, he now lives in New York City and teaches at Columbia University.
Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

MirrorA white room and a party going onand I was standing with some friendsunder a large gilt-framed mirrorthat tilted slightly forwardover the fireplace.We were drinking whiskeyand some of us, feeling no pain,were trying to decidewhat precise shade of yellowthe setting sun turned our drinks.I closed my eyes briefly,then looked up into the mirror:a woman in a green dress leanedagainst the far wall.She seemed distracted,the fingers of one handfidgeted with her necklace,and she was staring into the mirror,not at me, but past me, into a spacethat might be filled by someoneyet to arrive, who at that momentcould be starting the journeywhich would lead eventually to her.Then, suddenly, my friendssaid it was time to move on.This was years ago,and though I have forgottenwhere we went and who we all were,I still recall that moment of looking upand seeing the woman stare past meinto a place I could only imagine,and each time it is with a pang,as if just then I were steppingfrom the depths of the mirrorinto that white room, breathless and eager,only to discover too latethat she is not there.XVIIt is true, as someone has said, that inA world without heaven all is farewell.Whether you wave your hand or not,It is farewell, and if no tears come to your eyesIt is still farewell, and if you pretend not to notice,Hating what passes, it is still farewell.Farewell no matter what. And the palms as they leanOver the green, bright lagoon, and the pelicansDiving, and the glistening bodies of bathers resting,Are stages in an ultimate stillness, and the movementOf sand, and of wind, and the secret moves of the bodyAre part of the same, a simplicity that turns beingInto an occasion for mourning, or into an occasionWorth celebrating, for what else does one do,Feeling the weight of the pelicans' wings,The density of the palms' shadows, the cells that darkenThe backs of bathers? These are beyond the distortionsOf change, beyond the evasions of music. The endIs enacted again and again. And we feel itIn the temptations of sleep, in the moon's ripening,In the wine as it waits in the glass.Elegy for My Father(Robert Strand 1908-1968)1 THE EMPTY BODYThe hands were yours, the arms were yours,But you were not there.The eyes were yours, but they were closed and would not open.The distant sun was there.The moon poised on the hill's white shoulder was there.The wind on Bedford Basin was there.The pale green light of winter was there.Your mouth was there,But you were not there.When somebody spoke, there was no answer.Clouds came downAnd buried the buildings along the water,And the water was silent.The gulls stared.The years, the hours, that would not find youTurned in the wrists of others.There was no pain. It had gone.There were no secrets. There was nothing to say.The shade scattered its ashes.The body was yours, but you were not there.The air shivered against its skin.The dark leaned into its eyes.But you were not there.2 ANSWERSWhy did you travel?Because the house was cold.Why did you travel?Because it is what I have always done between sunset and sunrise.What did you wear?I wore a blue suit, a white shirt, yellow tie, and yellow socks.What did you wear?I wore nothing. A scarf of pain kept me warm.Who did you sleep with?I slept with a different woman each night.Who did you sleep with?I slept alone. I have always slept alone.Why did you lie to me?I always thought I told the truth.Why did you lie to me?Because the truth lies like nothing else and I love the truth.Why are you going?Because nothing means much to me anymore.Why are you going?I don't know. I have never known.How long shall I wait for you?Do not wait for me. I am tired and I want to lie down.Are you tired and do you want to lie down?Yes, I am tired and I want to lie down.3 YOUR DYINGNothing could stop you.Not the best day. Not the quiet. Not the ocean rocking.You went on with your dying.Not the treesUnder which you walked, not the trees that shaded you.Not the doctorWho warned you, the white-haired young doctor who saved you once.You went on with your dying.Nothing could stop you. Not your son. Not your daughterWho fed you and made you into a child again.Not your son who thought you would live forever.Not the wind that shook your lapels.Not the stillness that offered itself to your motion.Not your shoes that grew heavier.Not your eyes that refused to look ahead.Nothing could stop you.You sat in your room and stared at the cityAnd went on with your dying.You went to work and let the cold enter your clothes.You let blood seep into your socks.Your face turned white.Your voice cracked in two.You leaned on your cane.But nothing could stop you.Not your friends who gave you advice.Not your son. Not your daughter who watched you grow small.Not fatigue that lived in your sighs.Not your lungs that would fill with water.Not your sleeves that carried the pain of your arms.Nothing could stop you.You went on with your dying.When you played with children you went on with your dying.When you sat down to eat,When you woke up at night, wet with tears, your body sobbing,You went on with your dying.Nothing could stop you.Not the past.Not the future with its good weather.Not the view from your window, the view of the graveyard.Not the city. Not the terrible city with its wooden buildings.Not defeat. Not success.You did nothing but go on with your dying.You put your watch to your ear.You felt yourself slipping.You lay on the bed.You folded your arms over your chest and you dreamed of the worldwithout you,Of the space under the trees,Of the space in your room,Of the spaces that would now be empty of you,And you went on with your dying.Nothing could stop you.Not your breathing. Not your life.Not the life you wanted.Not the life you had.Nothing could stop you.4 YOUR SHADOWYou have your shadow.The places where you were have given it back.The hallways and bare lawns of the orphanage have given it back.The Newsboys Home has given it back.The streets of New York have given it back and so have the streets ofMontreal.The rooms in Belém where lizards would snap at mosquitos havegiven it back.The dark streets of Manaus and the damp streets of Rio have given itback.Mexico City where you wanted to leave it has given it back.And Halifax where the harbor would wash its hands of you has givenit back.You have your shadow.When you traveled the white wake of your going sent your shadowbelow, but when you arrived it was there to greet you. You hadyour shadow.The doorways you entered lifted your shadow from you and when youwent out, gave it back. You had your shadow.Even when you forgot your shadow, you found it again; it had beenwith you.Once in the country the shade of a tree covered your shadow and youwere not known.Once in the country you thought your shadow had been cast by somebodyelse. Your shadow said nothing.Your clothes carried your shadow inside; when you took them off, itspread like the dark of your past.And your words that float like leaves in an air that is lost, in a placeno one knows, gave you back your shadow.Your friends gave you back your shadow.Your enemies gave you back your shadow. They said it was heavy andwould cover your grave.When you died your shadow slept at the mouth of the furnace and ateashes for bread.It rejoiced among ruins.It watched while others slept.It shone like crystal among the tombs.It composed itself like air.It wanted to be like snow on water.It wanted to be nothing, but that was not possible.It came to my house.It sat on my shoulders.Your shadow is yours. I told it so. I said it was yours.I have carried it with me too long. I give it back.5 MOURNINGThey mourn for you.When you rise at midnight,And the dew glitters on the stone of your cheeks,They mourn for you.They lead you back into the empty house.They carry the chairs and tables inside.They sit you down and teach you to breathe.And your breath burns,It burns the pine box and the ashes fall like sunlight.They give you a book and tell you to read.They listen and their eyes fill with tears.The women stroke your fingers.They comb the yellow back into your hair.They shave the frost from your beard.They knead your thighs.They dress you in fine clothes.They rub your hands to keep them warm.They feed you. They offer you money.They get on their knees and beg you not to die.When you rise at midnight they mourn for you.They close their eyes and whisper your name over and over.But they cannot drag the buried light from your veins.They cannot reach your dreams.Old man, there is no way.Rise and keep rising, it does no good.They mourn for you the way they can.6 THE NEW YEARIt is winter and the new year.Nobody knows you.Away from the stars, from the rain of light,You lie under the weather of stones.There is no thread to lead you back.Your friends doze in the darkOf pleasure and cannot remember.Nobody knows you. You are the neighbor of nothing.You do not see the rain falling and the man walking away,The soiled wind blowing its ashes across the city.You do not see the sun dragging the moon like an echo.You do not see the bruised heart go up in flames,The skulls of the innocent turn into smoke.You do not see the scars of plenty, the eyes without light.It is over. It is winter and the new year.The meek are hauling their skins into heaven.The hopeless are suffering the cold with those who have nothing tohide.It is over and nobody knows you.There is starlight drifting on the black water.There are stones in the sea no one has seen.There is a shore and people are waiting.And nothing comes back.Because it is over.Because there is silence instead of a name.Because it is winter and the new year.
Read More Show Less

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

from Sleeping with One Eye Open
Sleeping with One Eye Open

When the Vacation Is Over for Good
Violent Storm
Old People on the Nursing Home Porch
Keeping Things Whole
The Whole Story
The Tunnel

from Reasons for Moving
The Mailman

The Accident
The Man in the Tree
The Man in the Mirror
The Ghost Ship
Moontan
What to Think Of
The Marriage
Eating Poetry
The Dirty Hand

from Darker
The New Poetry Handbook

The Remains
Giving Myself Up
The Room
Letter
Nostalgia
Tomorrow
The Dress
The Good Life
Black Maps
Coming to This
The Sleep
Breath
The Prediction
From a Litany
My Life
My Life by Somebody Else
Courtship
Not Dying
The Way It Is

fromThe Story of Our Lives
Elegy for My Father

In Celebration
The Story of Our Lives
The Untelling

The Monument

from The Late Hour
The Coming of Light

Another Place
Lines for Winter
My Son
For Jessica, My Daughter
From The Long Sad Party
The Late Hour
The Story
For Her
So You Say
Poor North
Pot Roast
The House in French Village
The Garden
Snowfall

from Selected Poems
Shooting Whales

Nights in Hackett’s Cove
A Morning
My Mother on an Evening in Late Summer

from The Continuous Life
The Idea

Velocity Meadows
A.M.
Orpheus Alone
Fiction
Luminism
Life in the Valley
The Continuous Life
Always
Se la vita è sventura . . .?
One Winter Night
The History of Poetry
The Continental College of Beauty
The Midnight Club
The Famous Scene
Itself Now
Reading in Place
The End

from Dark Harbor
I, VII, VIII, XIV, XVI, XX, XXII, XXIII,
XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, XXXI, XXXV,
XXXVI, XXXIX, XL, XLIII, XLIV, XLV\

from Blizzard of One
The Beach Hotel

Old Man Leaves Party
IWill Love the Twenty-first Century
The Next Time
The Night, the Porch
Our Masterpiece Is the Private Life
Morning, Noon, and Night
A Piece of the Storm
A Suite of Appearances
Here
Two de Chiricos
Some Last Words
In Memory of Joseph Brodsky
What It Was
The Delirium Waltz
The View

fromMan and Camel
The King

I Had Been a Polar Explorer
Man and Camel
Fire
The Rose
Storm
Afterwords
Elevator
Black Sea
Mother and Son
Mirror
Moon
Marsyas
My Name
Poem After the Seven Last Words

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Be the first to write a review
( 0 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(0)

4 Star

(0)

3 Star

(0)

2 Star

(0)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously

    If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
    Why is this product inappropriate?
    Comments (optional)