I suppose I picked up Sure Signs: New and Selected Poems by Ted Kooser at some AWP conference, because while the book was published in 1980, my copy is crisp and clean (excepting my recent reading of it).
The quotes on the back by poets such as Denise Levertov are all predicting the book will become (so by now has become) a classic, and while there's no doubt Kooser's poetry is in the vain of the best rural poets (I think here of Richard Hugo, William Stafford, Wendell Berry, and even Robert Frost, all whom seem inspirations for Kooser) I'm not sure it qualifies as "classic." Maybe I don't really know what that means when it comes to the written word. My first car was definitely a classic: a 1966 Ford Mustang. I enjoy some good ol' rock and roll that we might call classic--"Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones, for example. But calling a book of poems a classic is tougher, and if I had to choose among the 165 books of poetry on my shelf (I just counted them), I wouldn't right now put this particular volume among the top.
Still, there's much to admire in Sure Signs, including brevity, an amazing (if sometimes almost overbearing) command of metaphor, and a strong sense of place: rural and small-town Nebraska, mostly. I can't say I've read much Kooser before, though undoubtedly I have--he was U.S. Poet Laureate from 2004 to 2006, and writes the "American Life in Poetry" weekly column, to which I subscribe. In both cases, though, his job is primarily to promote the poetry of others, and poetry as an American good. Yet right away I recognized the first poem, "Selecting a Reader," a sort of inside joke for poets, I think, though I hope you don't have to be a writer of poems to enjoy this particular one.
My favorite, though, is not quite in the middle of the collection, and I realize I like it not only because of the craft and quality of the poem itself, but because I'm a father:
At the End of the Weekend
It is Sunday afternoon,
and I suddenly miss
my distant son, who at ten
has just this instant buzzed
my house in a flying
cardboard box, dipping
one wing to look down over
my shimmering roof, the yard,
the car in the drive. In his room
three hundred miles from me,
he tightens his helmet,
grips the controls, turns
loops and rolls. My windows
rattle. On days like this,
the least quick shadow crossing
the page makes me look up
at the sky like a goose,
squinting to see that flash
that I dream is his thought of me
daring to fall through the distance,
then climbing, full throttle, away.
So is Sure Signs a classic? I can't say. This poem certainly feels like a "classic" to me, like Theodore Roethke's "My Papa's Walz," a definite classic. As for the collection, take a peek and judge for yourself. I read it in one not-too-long sitting, and can recommend at least that.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Micro Review: Sure Signs
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Girls for Grandparents

Our younger daughter, waiting for the recital to start.

Here she talks with her piano teacher, who accompanied our older daughter as she played.

Our older daughter concentrates on playing.

Cardiovascular system, as displayed by my younger daughter and her classmates.

For 5th grade graduation at Civano Community School, the youngers make custom hats for the kids who are graduating.

It's a bit of a sad time for many. Or at least a time to contemplate the years.

Reading her "will."

Passing tissues along in case they get teary eyed, which most of the girls did.

Our older daughter mostly held it together, though.

Except when they were altogether cracking up.

Civano Community School marm Pam Bateman shows off a self-portrait, one for each year for each graduating student. It's great fun.

Definitely great fun.

Dancing the "Chicken Dance" to conclude graduation.

One more photo with the hat...

... and a photo without.
Our older daughter started at Civano in 2nd grade; our younger in K. Both are fairly different learners, I think, and both are excelling in this great school. Many thanks to the wonderful teachers and staff!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Micro Review: What Narcissism Means to Me
Tony Hoagland's third book of poetry, What Narcissism Means to Me, has been sitting on my shelf since I purchased a signed copy following his reading at the AWP conference in Austin back in 2005. Three years later, I couldn't recall any of the specific poems he read, but remember enjoying them quite a bit live.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Wildflower Wars
A dazzling wildflower season spells trouble for the master-planned communities that spread like invasive weeds along the edges of urban areas across the West. How are the wildflower wars being waged, and why is it important to have natural yards in cities, anyway? Here's my take:
http://americancity.org/daily/entry/834/
Monday, May 12, 2008
Elgin High Desert Grasslands
This weekend we joined two other Civano families for a weekend in and around Elgin, Arizona, about fifty miles southeast of Tucson in high Chihuahuan desert grasslands (now mostly rangeland, though still beautiful). Below are a few photos from the trip, but be sure to see these and many others in larger format in the gallery (here).

We stayed at the Rancho Milagro Bed and Breakfast outside Elgin, which we highly recommend.

Our first evening we went to the small, funky town of Patagonia, where the girls rode the merry-go-round.

Morning view of the Mustang Mountains.

Grasslands, and plenty of them.

Tucked among the grasses was a delightfully surprising amount of wildflowers like this beauty.

Lots of wildlife, too, like this bird that found us as curious as we found him.

And the clouds were pretty awesome, too.

Sonoran fountain at the B&B.

My lovely girls: older daughter, wife, and younger daughter. Happy Mother's Day, Billie!
Check out all of the photos in the gallery now!
Friday, May 09, 2008
Micro Review: Genius Loci
Over the last two years, my writer's mind has been so attuned to creative nonfiction that the poetry bug, mostly, hasn't been there. And though I've read more than a dozen books of poetry this year, and written some poems that are ready to fly, I haven't had the drive to write poetry, the kind of fevered pitch that occurs when the mind and body become more of a channel than an instigator.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Micro Review: Legacy
Just a few days ago I received a slim package from Jane Levin, a contributor to Terrain.org's current issue and a seasonal resident--this year, at least--of the Sonoran desert. The package arrived from Minnesota, and was filled with Jane's first chapbook, Legacy, published by Moonflower Press just a few weeks ago.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Micro Review: Here, Bullet
Brian Turner's Here, Bullet has received a lot of recognition since it won the 2005 Beatrice Haley Award (and since then a host of others) and published the same year. And rightfully so. The poetry is strong, the topic both horrifying and intensely interesting, the imagery stunning. I'm not sure that there's been a more important book of poetry this decade. I think there have been finer books, books perhaps more important for the poetry industrial complex, but few as essential to Americans because it does something none has yet done: "Turner has sent back a dispatch," says The New York Times Book Review, "from a place arguably more incomprehensible than the moon--the war in Iraq--and deserves our thanks."
I read Here, Bullet in two sittings: late into the evening last night, when I wanted to get a flavor for the book, intending to read just the first poem but subsequently held by it until halfway through half past midnight. And again this morning, when I couldn't put it down until finishing it.
I was fortunate to attend a reading by Turner here at the University of Arizona back in, I think, 2006. He blew the room away, because his reading is as intense as the poems, showering the room in a bullet spray of words, leaving us all wounded and better for it.
The words to describe this collection are visceral, poignant, imperative. Take, for example, the title poem:
Here, Bullet
If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta's opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you've started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing throguh the air, here is where I moan
the barrel's cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue's explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.
Last week I said Jake Adam York's new collection is essential, and it is. So is Here, Bullet--and more so in this time in our history.
.
(And for more info about Turner, read his first book interview by Kate Greenstreet and listen to Turner read some of his poetry over at From the Fishouse.)
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Micro Reviews: Freshly Rooted, and Pity the Drowned Horses
For Wall, whose book was published by Ireland's Salmon Poetry in 2007, the place is Alaska, predominantly, and Juneau where she lives now, dark with rain and ravens and a kind of redemption that the landscape both gives and demands. For example:Three black knives
cleave morning air.
Snow has softened the sound
but even driving
beside them, we hear
the slicing of wings.
- from "Composition: Ravens"
While there's a Mary Oliver-like quality to much of the poetry, there's also an intimacy with the built places of Wall's northern (and sometimes southern) world not so common in Oliver's work, and toward the end of the book a certain jazzy tendancy that I find quite lovely. For example, the first stanza of "Rain on South Franklin Street," one of my favorites:
Oh you know that
voodoo rain,
the way he carries
his names, giving a new one
at each gas station
liquor store—
now he's she-rain
all seductive tears and tongue,
now dog
rain, teeth & yips on the metal roof.
"Fence on the Border" near the end of the collection is perhaps my favorite. It begins:
It is in the bending and the pain,
the way old paint scrapes off old wood,
the way elders light our way through time
on their way to a smaller frailty.
Luna's success, in part, stems from the fact that she crafts an honest perspective, honest story and scene if you will, without bludgeoning the reader in image or sensibility. That is, the poetry is elegant yet narrative, flowing yet tight. Woven is close to the right word.
From "The Bullfight:"
My blood, of necessity, will eventually seep
into the desert; it is the way of my people;
it is the way of all people: crossing borders,
learning of caliche and wind, building monuments
from mud, finding something of themselves,
losing something of themselves.
If having an intimate relationship with place means losing something of themselves, then readers are the ones who gain in Freshly Rooted and Pity the Drowned Horses.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Micro Review: A Murmuration of Starlings
Poems by Jake Adam York
The Crab Orchard Series in Poetry - Open Competition Award
Sunday, April 20, 2008
March Yard Flowers
I'm running behind on posts, I know, but 'tis the season. School's almost out, and then I may have a moderately regular blog post schedule. Or at least I'll keep telling you that.
My new Canon XSi arrived late last week and while I haven't had much of a chance to play with it, I did take a couple photos from my backyard:


The rest of these photos, though, are three weeks old now, from the amazing spring wildflowers we've had (and still continue to have). These are all from our yard, our neighbors' yards, and a small walkabout at Civano. These and 30 others are available at a larger size in my gallery.

The sweet acacia bloom this spring has been spectacular: the trees are as yellow as Colorado aspens in the autumn.

Closer view of sweet acacia bloom. These are predominant street trees in our neighborhood.

Bloom stalk of my neighbor's agave.

It is not an overstatement, I think, to say that our street had the best wildflowers in Civano this year.

My younger daughter: a flower among flowers.

Ocotillo buds just before bloom, with palo verde in the background. I must say I love this photo.

Lovely scented star jasmine in my neighbor's yard, with our purple house in the background.

Hesperaloe leaves and palo verde shadow against the wall of the Civano Nursery.

Indian blanket soaking in the sun.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Ammonsfest
I have before and I will again thank Miriam Marty Clark for introducing me to A.R. Ammons (specifically, his Selected Poems, Expanded Edition, published in 1987). That was probably 1989 or therabouts, when I was a sophomore or junior at Auburn University, when I first started writing poetry seriously. Miriam, who has been on the Terrain.org editorial board since I started the publication eleven years ago, taught an upper-level contemporary poetry course. She did her Ph.D. thesis on Ammons, so knew his work intimately.
A couple good poetry blogger friends had the opportunity to study under Ammons at Cornell: Gina Franco and Jake Adam York. I'd like to have long conversations with both of them about their experience. Some day I hope to. (I feel especially connected to Jake in this capacity because we both studied poetry under R.T. Smith while at Auburn University. Though, Gina has more more beautiful hair....)
An Ammons poem, then, to leave you on:
He Held Radical Light
He held radical light
as music in his skull: music
turned, as
over ridges immanences of evening light
rise, turned
back over the furrows of his brain
into the dark, shuddered,
shot out again
in long swaying swirls of sound:
reality had little weight in his transcendence
so he
had trouble keeping
his feet on the ground, was
terrified by that
and liked himself, and others, mostly
under roofs:
nevertheless, when the
light churned and changed
his head to music, nothing could keep him
off the mountains, his
head back, mouth working,
wrestling to say, to cut loose
from the high, unimaginable hook:
released, hidden from the stars, he ate,
burped, said he was like any one
of us: demanded he
was like any one of us.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
A Night at Kitt Peak National Observatory
On Thursday evening my older daughter and I participated in the Kitt Peak National Observatory nightly observing program, which was really cool. Some photos below, and more over on my gallery. I definitely recommend this for folks interested in astronomy, though be sure to make reservations a few weeks ahead of time and be flexible, because the program can be cancelled due to weather. This was our third attempt to get up there.

Kitt Peak, a part of the Tohono O'odham reservation, is about 50 miles from Tucson. On the way up, we stopped on this side road to snap a few photos.

The road up to Kitt Peak, which unless you are a part of the nightly observing program, closes at 4 p.m. Driving down after the program ended at about 10:45 p.m., we had to have our headlights off for the first mile.

A mural on a large concrete ballast. And who's that cutie in the middle?

The most recognizable observatory (of 26) atop Kitt Peak: the Mayall 4-meter telescope.

Sunset view from the SARA Observatory.

Final light at SARA.
View these and 15 other larger photos on my gallery.
And check out the Kitt Peak live KPCam here.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Extended Vacation
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The Cost of War
From Jeremy Funk, Americans United for Change:
Five years ago today, President Bush declared war on Iraq.
He went on TV and addressed the American people, saying:
The people of the United States and our friends and allies will not live at the mercy of an outlaw regime that threatens the peace with weapons of mass murder.
The American people have paid a terrible price for that statement:
http://www.americansunitedforchange.com/costofwar
In a matter of days, the U.S. military will likely suffer its 4,000th casualty from the war -- 4,000 brave young men and women who won't be coming home to their mothers or fathers, sons or daughters.
And while our troops overseas and their courageous families here at home have paid the highest price, every American has been impacted by the President's war.
With the half-trillion dollars that President Bush has already spent in Iraq, we could rebuild the Gulf Coast. We could fix our failing schools. We could give every child healthcare.
How much more are Americans willing to pay for President Bush's war in Iraq?
The cost of the war can't be measured merely in dollars. Click here to watch the Americans United for Change new YouTube video about the real cost of the five years of war:
http://www.americansunitedforchange.com/costofwar
~~~
Does anyone still doubt how we as a nation have been deceived? Can anyone legitimately justify the war and its expenses? How guilty are we for allowing this to continue?
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Wildflowers, Wildflowers, Wildflowers
I returned yesterday from two extraordinary days of wildflower hunting in the mountains north of Tucson and east of Phoenix (Superstitions, Dripping Springs, Apache Leap, and points thereby). I went with my friend Scott Calhoun and three other landscape designers and folks I hadn't met before: Julie from Chicago, Hilary from Indiana (from England originally), and Judy from here in Tucson.
We had a great time stumbling upon wildflowers, talking shop, raging on the current political administration, and eating chile rellenos. The twist-cap Australian wine was pretty good, too.
We saw so much, and I took so many photos, that I've divided the trip into three galleries, and I hope you'll visit all three!
Dripping Springs Mountains Wildflowers



View all 58 Dripping Springs Mountains wildflower photos >>
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View all 16 Boyce Thompson Arboretum photos >>
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Superstition Mountains Wildflowers



View all 75 Superstition Mountains (and Lost Dutchman State Park) wildflower photos >>
Or head on over to the main SimmonsBuntin.com Gallery, where links to these and all galleries are located.
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Year of Self-Indulgence
Saw Jennifer Michael Hecht last night for the first of her three lectures for the UA's Astrobiology and the Sacred annual series. Pretty mind-bending stuff. One of the more eloquent athiests I've heard. Compelling visions, hers.
*
Saturday evening my older daughter and I will attend Kitt Peak National Observatory's Nightly Observance Program. Should be an interesting experience, and cold, too. I hope to work the experience into an essay on vision, of a sort.
*
Sunday through Tuesday I'm off to the Superstition Mountains with compadre Scott Calhoun, and others, for a few more days of wildflower photography. This is turning out to be the Year of Self-Indulgence.
*
What else is self-indulgent? Last week I spent $100 to join The Police Fan Club so I could advance purchase $111 tickets to see The Police with Elvis Costello up at Red Rocks Amphitheatre outside Denver on July 22. I've been a lifelong fan of The Police, and while I've seen Sting in concert, never the trio. Much to my chagrin, Billie and the girls will be back in school (our year-round schedule). I hope I'm allowed to bring in my camera....
*
Speaking of camera, another self-indulgence: I recently purchased a new wide-angle lens, and have ordered the new Canon Rebel XSi, too. Patience is not one of my better virtues.
*
Conversely, I haven't done our taxes yet. We'll owe this year, I'm afraid.
*
Grandpa Bill and Grammie Gloria are coming in next week. Between the wildflower jaunt and working late, I probably won't get to see them much, which is my loss.
*
More self-indulgences, you ask? I'm home typing this instead of at work so I can catch the girls' talent show on their last day before spring break. I thought that actually less indulgent than going to work, which was my original plan.
*
After the Wildbranch Writing Workshop in Vermont in June (assuming I get in, and if I go that's certainly another self-indulgence) and after the July issue of Terrain.org launches (Understory / Overgrowth), I'm hoping to make this the summer of poetry. There's something on the horizon in that context, but it's way out on the horizon and solely depends on me putting pen to paper and finding poetic success. Always an unknown.
*
On the nonfiction front, still lots of submissions out there, though nothing new from a publishing perspective to report. But my friend and fellow UA MFA nonfictioner Ben Quick has an excellent essay in the current issue of Orion on Agent Orange. Way to go, Ben!
*
Listening to some old grunge favorites lately: Screaming Trees, Pearl Jam, Singles soundtrack. All really frickin' awesome. What about Nirvana? All in good time, my friends.
*
Finished listening to Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials triology (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass). Very well-written, very intriguing. The last one had one braid that was notably less interesting than the main story, and the ending was a bit mushy, but otherwise a great set of books that are in theory oriented toward children, but are really for adults (and young adults I suppose). Great narration on the CDs.
*
Off to the talent show now. Look for photos from the wildflower trip mid-next week.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Picacho Peak Wildflowers
The flowers at Ironwood Forest National Monument aren't bad. The flowers at Picacho Peak State Park are absolutely amazing. Below are 17 glimpses of my morning hike with my older daughter. There are a total of 63 colorful images over in the gallery, too.

Sunrise over a low peak adjacent to Picacho Peak, itself about 40 miles northwest of Tucson. This first set of photos is taken with my new 10-20mm wide-angle lens, which is awesome!

My older daughter (the younger lass, alas, is under the weather) on the trail up to the peak.

And her old man, smiling but---with eyes hidden in shadow---perhaps a bit shifty?

The older rascalian, again. We had pretty amazing clouds in addition to flowers this morning.

Poppies and a dramatic view as we climb the trail to the peak.

A more horizontal view. There are saguaros and other cacti a plenty at the park.

For example, these teddy bear cholla.

The patches of Mexican gold-poppies, desert lupine, fiddleneck, desert chicory, and wild heliotrope were fairly stunning.

But here's one of my favorite flowers (and a wildflower, at that)!

Switching to the trusty ol' macro lens now. What a difference a good lens makes!

Poppies among Picacho's volcanic soil.

Found composition: cholla joint, poppies, verbena bloom (or filaree, an exotic, perhaps), and more.

Mexican gold-poppies and desert lupine.

Desert chicory; not as plentify as the others, but stunning nonetheless.

Fiddleneck among poppies and lupine, with hedgehog cactus in the background.

Wahoooooo for wildflowers!

Not a bad way to spend to spend the morning, indeed!
Return to the Ostrich Ranch
Periodically the girls and I stop by Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch northwest of Tucson off Interstate 10. To our delight, there always seems to be something new. This time, following a wildflower hike at Picacho Peak (see above), my older daughter and I stopped. Some photos below and a few more on my site's gallery:

The ostriches are always happy to see us!

Speaking from experience, it's true: ostriches do bite, with a blind indiscriminate thrust.

The key deer are always great fun to feed.

And apparently the camera's pretty tasty, too!

The rainbow lorikeet aviary's pretty great, too.

Taking the other bird's-eye view, I suppose.
So what's new there? Miniature donkeys and emus. Quite a managerie they've got going on. I'm amazed, too, how many people zoom by and never stop. Trust me, it's a wonderful and unique experience.
View the other photos on the gallery now.




