Click image to read interview (& poem)
Those of you who follow The Hut regularly know that Franz Wright is a personal fav of mine among contemporary poets. Here's a new poem by him, published recently in the New Yorker.
Learning To Read
If I had to look up every fifth or sixth word,
so what. I looked them up.
I had nowhere important to be.
My father was unavailable, and my mother
looked like she was about to break,
and not into blossom, every time I spoke.
My favorite was the Iliad. True,
I had trouble pronouncing the names,
but when was I going to pronounce them, and
to whom?
My stepfather maybe?
Number one, he could barely speak English;
two, he had sufficient intent
to smirk or knock me down
without any prompting from me.
Loneliness, boredom and terror
my motivation
fiercely fuelled.
I get down on my knees and thank God for them.
Du Fu, the Psalms, Whitman, Rilke.
Life has taught me
to understand books.
Franz Wright
And a short NPR segment on Wright, with him reading some poems. And some more poems. And, oh yeah, some more.
And a fine, insightful, sensitive piece on Franz Wright by Justin Marks entitled In My Father's House There Are Many Rooms.
'Nuff said.
best,
Don
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