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Flying At Night: Poems 1965-1985
Named U.S. Poet Laureate for 2004-2006, Ted Kooser is one of America's masters of the short metaphorical poem. Dana Gioia has remarked that Kooser has written more perfect poems than any poet of his generation.
In Flying at Poems 1965-1985 , Kooser has selected poems from two of his earlier works, Sure Signs and One World at a Time (1985). Taken together or read one at a time, these poems clearly show why William Cole, writing in the Saturday Review , called Ted Kooser "a wonderful poet," and why Peter Stitt, writing in the Georgia Review , proclaimed him "a skilled and cunning writer. . . . An authentic 'poet of the American people.'"
In Flying at Poems 1965-1985 , Kooser has selected poems from two of his earlier works, Sure Signs and One World at a Time (1985). Taken together or read one at a time, these poems clearly show why William Cole, writing in the Saturday Review , called Ted Kooser "a wonderful poet," and why Peter Stitt, writing in the Georgia Review , proclaimed him "a skilled and cunning writer. . . . An authentic 'poet of the American people.'"
142 pages, Paperback
First published March 5, 2005
19 people are currently reading
280 people want to read
About the author
Ted Kooser
99 books297 followersTed Kooser lives in rural Nebraska with his wife, Kathleen, and three dogs. He is one of America's most noted poets, having served two terms as U. S. Poet Laureate and, during the second term, he won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for his collection, Delights & Shadows. He is a retired life insurance executive who now teaches part-time at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. The school board in Lincoln, Nebraska, recently opened Ted Kooser Elementary School, which Ted says is his greatest honor, among many awards and distinctions. He has published twelve collections of poetry and three nonfiction books. Two of the latter are books on writing, The Poetry Home Repair Manual and Writing Brave and Free, and a memoir, Lights on a Ground of Darkness (all from University of Nebraska Press. Bag in the Wind from Candlewick is his first children's book, with which he is delighted. "It's wonderful," Ted said, "to be writing for young people. I am reinventing myself at age 70."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 73 reviews
November 1, 2020
These are poems to read in concentration and stillness; these are meditative, not ordinary poems.
Kooser makes you slow down and take it in- the imagery, sense of place, connection to Life and the world, the precision of his word choice. He has the ability, seemingly with ease, to write on any ordinary subject, no matter how mundane, and make it transcendent. Sublimity in plain language.
First Snow
The old black dog comes in one evening
with the first few snowflakes on his back
and falls asleep, throwing his bad leg out
at our excitement. This is the night
when one of us gets to say, as if it were news,
that no two snowflakes are ever alike;
the night when each of us remembers something
snowier. The kitchen is a kindergarten
steamy with stories. The dog gets stiffly up
and limps away, seeking a quiet spot
at the heart of the house. Outside,
in silence, with diamonds in his fur,
the winter night curls round the legs of the trees,
sleepily blinking snowflakes from his lashes.
Kooser makes you slow down and take it in- the imagery, sense of place, connection to Life and the world, the precision of his word choice. He has the ability, seemingly with ease, to write on any ordinary subject, no matter how mundane, and make it transcendent. Sublimity in plain language.
First Snow
The old black dog comes in one evening
with the first few snowflakes on his back
and falls asleep, throwing his bad leg out
at our excitement. This is the night
when one of us gets to say, as if it were news,
that no two snowflakes are ever alike;
the night when each of us remembers something
snowier. The kitchen is a kindergarten
steamy with stories. The dog gets stiffly up
and limps away, seeking a quiet spot
at the heart of the house. Outside,
in silence, with diamonds in his fur,
the winter night curls round the legs of the trees,
sleepily blinking snowflakes from his lashes.
June 28, 2017
Abandoned Farmhouse
Ted Kooser
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm—a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.
Daddy Longlegs
Ted Kooser
Here, on fine long legs springy as steel,
a life rides, sealed in a small brown pill
that skims along over the basement floor
wrapped up in a simple obsession.
Eight legs reach out like the master ribs
of a web in which some thought is caught
dead center in its own small world,
a thought so far from the touch of things
that we can only guess at it. If mine,
it would be the secret dream
of walking alone across the floor of my life
with an easy grace, and with love enough
to live on at the center of myself.
And this is Ted Kooser reading (and you can read along with him) his sweet poem “This is Nebraska”:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem...
These are three poems I liked from a book that collects/republished two of Kooser’s earlier books of poems, Signs (1980) and One World at a Time (1985). I like some of his later work better, the exchanges he did with Jim Harrison, the poems he wrote in the process of battling cancer, but these are warm, accessible, mostly narrative poems of rural Nebraska and its people by the former Poet Laureate.
Ted Kooser
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm—a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.
Daddy Longlegs
Ted Kooser
Here, on fine long legs springy as steel,
a life rides, sealed in a small brown pill
that skims along over the basement floor
wrapped up in a simple obsession.
Eight legs reach out like the master ribs
of a web in which some thought is caught
dead center in its own small world,
a thought so far from the touch of things
that we can only guess at it. If mine,
it would be the secret dream
of walking alone across the floor of my life
with an easy grace, and with love enough
to live on at the center of myself.
And this is Ted Kooser reading (and you can read along with him) his sweet poem “This is Nebraska”:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem...
These are three poems I liked from a book that collects/republished two of Kooser’s earlier books of poems, Signs (1980) and One World at a Time (1985). I like some of his later work better, the exchanges he did with Jim Harrison, the poems he wrote in the process of battling cancer, but these are warm, accessible, mostly narrative poems of rural Nebraska and its people by the former Poet Laureate.
September 27, 2017
Rereading the poems of Ted Kooser is always a pleasure. Deceptively simple, they are loaded with implication. Kooser is a master of the surprising metaphor and simile that always seem inevitable.
Another reread: Kooser is a master of the brief poem and the amazing simile and metaphor. Reading his work is a joy.
Another reread: Kooser is a master of the brief poem and the amazing simile and metaphor. Reading his work is a joy.
January 8, 2023
Flying at Night by Ted Kooser
There were a few poems in this collection by Ted Kooser Poet Laureate that I really enjoyed:
1. Christmas Eve
2. Fort Robinson
3. A Fencerow in Early March
4. A Letter
3.5 stars
There were a few poems in this collection by Ted Kooser Poet Laureate that I really enjoyed:
1. Christmas Eve
2. Fort Robinson
3. A Fencerow in Early March
4. A Letter
3.5 stars
March 13, 2019
An Empty Place
There is nothing for Death
in an empty house,
nor left for him in the white dish
broken over the road.
Come and sit down by me
on the sunny stoop,
and let your heart so gently
rock you, rock you.
There is nothing to harm us here.
Abandoned Farmhouse
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm—a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.
There is nothing for Death
in an empty house,
nor left for him in the white dish
broken over the road.
Come and sit down by me
on the sunny stoop,
and let your heart so gently
rock you, rock you.
There is nothing to harm us here.
Abandoned Farmhouse
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm—a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.
November 26, 2010
Kooser is something of a similar poet to Billy Collins for me in that I'd definitely say he is a talented and eloquent, but as far as "interesting" goes, it's only half of the time. Long story short (because my last review didn't save apparently): Kooser needs to improve on subject matter. The man's imagery is superb and I'll give props to anyone that can write a short poem without making it feel like a collection of unfinished fragments or open-ended nonsense, but his writing doesn't quite soar when he presents you with something such as a ditty based around a pivoting fan. I guess this makes his poet laureate status a bit more apparent: More than Collins, he focuses on incredibly mundane topics (occasionally veering into something more interesting) which makes his writing register as incredibly sanitized and inoffensive, and just rubs me the wrong way for the most part. Thankfully, this is only half the time so there's at least something nice to be enjoyed about this book, but I think your non-poetry-reading grandparents would probably take more away from this collection than you would. I mean, you know those people who only talk about their cat all the time? It's that, basically. Yeah, the little guy occasionally does something cute and funny, but for the most part he's just throwing up on the guest room mattress.
January 22, 2015
"like the thin gray scarves
of immigrants
standing in line,
hands in their pockets,
cold fingers
pinching the lint
of their stories"
Thus Ted Kooser interweaves metaphor within metaphor, image within image, in this fine selection of poetry from 20 years of writing. His writing is lucid and simple, but beautiful and evocative. There are no sour notes, no tones of presumption or artificial distancing through obfuscation here.
"The dog gets stiffly up
and limps away, seeking a quiet spot
at the heart of the house. Outside,
in silence, with diamonds in his fur,
the winter night curls round the legs of the trees,
sleepily blinking snowflakes from his lashes."
Mortality hovers over every poem, but its bittersweet knowledge brings forth poetry worth spending time with.
of immigrants
standing in line,
hands in their pockets,
cold fingers
pinching the lint
of their stories"
Thus Ted Kooser interweaves metaphor within metaphor, image within image, in this fine selection of poetry from 20 years of writing. His writing is lucid and simple, but beautiful and evocative. There are no sour notes, no tones of presumption or artificial distancing through obfuscation here.
"The dog gets stiffly up
and limps away, seeking a quiet spot
at the heart of the house. Outside,
in silence, with diamonds in his fur,
the winter night curls round the legs of the trees,
sleepily blinking snowflakes from his lashes."
Mortality hovers over every poem, but its bittersweet knowledge brings forth poetry worth spending time with.
July 12, 2024
Truly one of the worst books i've ever read. Ashamed I spent money on this. Ashamed to have it in my home. I have no idea how he was the Poet Laureate.
" It's hard-/ not the mattress, but life./ Life is hard." 0/10.
"High in the trees, cicadas weave a wickerwork of longing./ In the shadows between two houses,/ a man peers into a room / through the hum of a window fan, / the fragrance of his hair oil/ like distant music, far too faint /to awaken the naked girl /on the clean linen of moonlight." 0/10.
".. over the chilly well of the toilet / you trickle your precious sum in a cup./ It's as simple as that. But the heat/ of this gold your body's melted and poured out / into a form begins to enthrall you, /warming your hand with your flesh's fevers /in a terrible way." 0/10.
" It's hard-/ not the mattress, but life./ Life is hard." 0/10.
"High in the trees, cicadas weave a wickerwork of longing./ In the shadows between two houses,/ a man peers into a room / through the hum of a window fan, / the fragrance of his hair oil/ like distant music, far too faint /to awaken the naked girl /on the clean linen of moonlight." 0/10.
".. over the chilly well of the toilet / you trickle your precious sum in a cup./ It's as simple as that. But the heat/ of this gold your body's melted and poured out / into a form begins to enthrall you, /warming your hand with your flesh's fevers /in a terrible way." 0/10.
December 1, 2020
It's calm and clear, but the symbolism is brilliant.
February 27, 2017
I'd read a few of Kooser's poems in collections and his craft-focused poetry writing book The Poetry Home Repair Manual: Practical Advice for Beginning Poets. I highly recommend the writing book. So I came to this collection with high expectations of that kind that can leave a person quite disappointed. But not this time!
Kooser clearly takes his own advice to write a poem as a way of communicating as clearly as possible, to write poems as invited guests of their readers. Clarity and earnestness are evident in many of his poems. My two favorites of the book are "Christmas Eve" about sitting down with his elderly father, and "The Blind Always Come as Such a Surprise", which shows the slight murky glow of his sense of humor. In a way, Kooser splits the difference between Billy Collins and Mary Oliver for me. He does not have so many overtly funny poems ("Selecting a Reader" being the delightful exception) as Collins does (such as the also delightful "Candle Hat"). Yet avoids being slight more than Collins does at times. Kooser is not quite so devoted to the clear seeing of the natural world and deep philosophical assertions as Oliver. And yet he does not slip into overly poetical (affected seeming) poems as Oliver does at times.
So "The Man With the Hearing Aid" and "At the Office Early" can step away into a bit of magical realism that I wouldn't expect from Oliver, and "The Boarding House" can tell a delightfully sweet Henry James sort of story in 52 words, and "The Ride" can use a heartfelt metaphor (a conceit, really) to mourn the passing of a friend.
Kooser's poetry feels more like craft than flowery, swiftly-executed poems. If you don't mind some traditional form and traditional conclusions, I think you will be richly rewarded for reading this book.
Kooser clearly takes his own advice to write a poem as a way of communicating as clearly as possible, to write poems as invited guests of their readers. Clarity and earnestness are evident in many of his poems. My two favorites of the book are "Christmas Eve" about sitting down with his elderly father, and "The Blind Always Come as Such a Surprise", which shows the slight murky glow of his sense of humor. In a way, Kooser splits the difference between Billy Collins and Mary Oliver for me. He does not have so many overtly funny poems ("Selecting a Reader" being the delightful exception) as Collins does (such as the also delightful "Candle Hat"). Yet avoids being slight more than Collins does at times. Kooser is not quite so devoted to the clear seeing of the natural world and deep philosophical assertions as Oliver. And yet he does not slip into overly poetical (affected seeming) poems as Oliver does at times.
So "The Man With the Hearing Aid" and "At the Office Early" can step away into a bit of magical realism that I wouldn't expect from Oliver, and "The Boarding House" can tell a delightfully sweet Henry James sort of story in 52 words, and "The Ride" can use a heartfelt metaphor (a conceit, really) to mourn the passing of a friend.
Kooser's poetry feels more like craft than flowery, swiftly-executed poems. If you don't mind some traditional form and traditional conclusions, I think you will be richly rewarded for reading this book.
July 30, 2018
This is the second book by the poet I have read, and it serves as a bit of a "best of" compilation, something that is common in poetry [1]. While it is certainly a very worthwhile collection of most excellent poetry, it is by no means an easy book to recommend for all readers. The particular excellence of this book consists of the poet's dark reflections on death, illness, and the ravages of time, as well as the triviality of the lives of so many people. Perhaps ironically, the author's turning of the material of contemporary life into moving poetry serves to point out how trivial most people's understanding of their existence is, because he manages to make experiences that are neglected or forgotten into poetry of the highest order. When someone can write moving poetry on book clubs, walking to work, and the basement of a Goodwill store, no one has any excuse to view anything as beneath poetic excellence and attention, as is often the case for many. These poems may not be fun to read, but they are certainly worth reading and reflecting on and serving as the inspiration for one's own musings.
The nearly 150 pages of poems here, including nearly as many poems, are divided into two sections, with the titles of "Sure Signs" and "One World At A Time." The author sets the tone for the book from the first poem, which shows the author selecting a reader who enjoys the poems and looks through them but figures that for the price of the book she can spend it on something more useful, and then she does. Other poems reflect on the seasons, the country of the midwest, dying at work, people with various ailments like hobbled feet and hearing aids, and even such matters as having to take a urine sample in order to get a job. Some poets may be accused of writing about recondite subjects that are far too obscure or estoeric for ordinary readers, but the poetry of Kooser manages to strike the right touch between short impressionistic sketches as well as realistic portrayals of prosaic lives. The poetry manages to be both beautiful as well as relatable, and the author even manage to write about politics without causing offense, something that is rarely even attempted at present.
This poetry is certainly better to read for free, by reading a library copy, rather than paying for, but all the same it is worth more than just reading. This is the sort of poetry that hopefully has inspired at least some of its readers to write. For the artist, every experience or observation is fuel for art, and that is clearly the case here. As someone who has written poetry on the broken doors of office restrooms or the broken software that companies use, the poems are definitely ones that I can appreciate as someone whose on poetic beat and approach are not very far from this one. To be sure, these poems were published more than thirty years ago, but they feel fresh, in large part because they are written about the author's observations and experience and still feel like stories told as memories. Given the wide variety in time as well as subject matter as well as the author's winsome manner in writing and his wry and ironic tone, this book is certainly a pleasure to read. Any poet who can switch from talking to a late-marrying widow who wanted to keep her husband's smelly feet against him like a chit until he died while working on the farm to writing about how to clean a bass and then what it is like to get to the office early deserves one's respect and regard.
[1] See, for example:
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
The nearly 150 pages of poems here, including nearly as many poems, are divided into two sections, with the titles of "Sure Signs" and "One World At A Time." The author sets the tone for the book from the first poem, which shows the author selecting a reader who enjoys the poems and looks through them but figures that for the price of the book she can spend it on something more useful, and then she does. Other poems reflect on the seasons, the country of the midwest, dying at work, people with various ailments like hobbled feet and hearing aids, and even such matters as having to take a urine sample in order to get a job. Some poets may be accused of writing about recondite subjects that are far too obscure or estoeric for ordinary readers, but the poetry of Kooser manages to strike the right touch between short impressionistic sketches as well as realistic portrayals of prosaic lives. The poetry manages to be both beautiful as well as relatable, and the author even manage to write about politics without causing offense, something that is rarely even attempted at present.
This poetry is certainly better to read for free, by reading a library copy, rather than paying for, but all the same it is worth more than just reading. This is the sort of poetry that hopefully has inspired at least some of its readers to write. For the artist, every experience or observation is fuel for art, and that is clearly the case here. As someone who has written poetry on the broken doors of office restrooms or the broken software that companies use, the poems are definitely ones that I can appreciate as someone whose on poetic beat and approach are not very far from this one. To be sure, these poems were published more than thirty years ago, but they feel fresh, in large part because they are written about the author's observations and experience and still feel like stories told as memories. Given the wide variety in time as well as subject matter as well as the author's winsome manner in writing and his wry and ironic tone, this book is certainly a pleasure to read. Any poet who can switch from talking to a late-marrying widow who wanted to keep her husband's smelly feet against him like a chit until he died while working on the farm to writing about how to clean a bass and then what it is like to get to the office early deserves one's respect and regard.
[1] See, for example:
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
https://edgeinducedcohesion.blog/2018...
February 27, 2017
The poet is a master of the short poem. Often, in other poets, I would liked to have them go long instead of short. But not this poet, he gets it said in the short form.
October 10, 2008
Ted Kooser, Flying at Night (University of Pittsburgh, 2005)
For the first quarter of this book, it seemed to me something was missing. I'm still not entirely sure what it was, but then things smoothed out a bit, presumably as Kooser got older (I'm assuming rough chronological order here). From that point on, it's the same sort of stuff Ted Kooser has written for the past thirty-odd years, and it's all quite good:
“Behind each garage a ladder
sleeps in the leaves, its hands
folded across its lean belly.
There are hundreds of them
in each town, and more
sleeping by the haystacks and barns
out in the country-- tough old
day laborers, seasoned and wheezy,
drunk on the weather,
sleeping outside with the crickets.”
(“Late September”)
Kooser has a sense of the simple in language matched by very few living American poets-- Simic, Sadoff, Allbery, a few others. He's pretty much the embodiment of Williams' “no ideas but in things” charge here. An excellent book (for most of its length), and highly recommended. ****
For the first quarter of this book, it seemed to me something was missing. I'm still not entirely sure what it was, but then things smoothed out a bit, presumably as Kooser got older (I'm assuming rough chronological order here). From that point on, it's the same sort of stuff Ted Kooser has written for the past thirty-odd years, and it's all quite good:
“Behind each garage a ladder
sleeps in the leaves, its hands
folded across its lean belly.
There are hundreds of them
in each town, and more
sleeping by the haystacks and barns
out in the country-- tough old
day laborers, seasoned and wheezy,
drunk on the weather,
sleeping outside with the crickets.”
(“Late September”)
Kooser has a sense of the simple in language matched by very few living American poets-- Simic, Sadoff, Allbery, a few others. He's pretty much the embodiment of Williams' “no ideas but in things” charge here. An excellent book (for most of its length), and highly recommended. ****
November 5, 2013
Kooser's poems evoke for me the dank smell of my grandfather's garage -- uncannily comforting but they also make me feel like a stranger who doesn't really belong where I find myself and feeling vaguely like an intruder. (Roethke's "ordnung, ordnung! Papa's coming!" better captures my real feeling of love and terror at the very rural, masculine world Kooser writes from and I couldn't imagine Kooser ever writing like that.) I realize this probably says more about my psychology than it does Kooser's poetry, but I suspect more than a few readers will have a similar reaction to his poetry. Like a W.C. Williams or a William Stafford, I respect Kooser's poetic talents but cannot honestly say I feel much of a personal affinity for the folksy, small-town ambiance his poems inhabit. He does write very affectionately about his own family elders (and sometimes his sons) and that will surely have a strong appeal to many readers.
June 23, 2010
If I were going to a place where I could take only one book with me, then please make it book of Ted Kooser's poems. This book would do nicely. Unlike many contemporary poets, Kooser writes about what he observes and not about what he does. He writes for the reader, to show us what he sees by how it relates to an idea or to a feeling. He has a gift for making comparisons that catch the exact nature of his subject. I find myself in awe at how his mind works and will reread each poem again and again before moving on, simply to enjoy the moments he shares.
January 30, 2015
Much of Kooser's poetry is accessible, sometimes deceivingly homely, folksy, and simple. But the feelings and intelligence often shimmer through the plain cloth of his language like a silken thread of tempered gold. Much is about life -- life's sorrow and disappointment, the unfortunate loss or inevitable passing of loved ones, the moments of sparkling beauty and truth in unsuspected mundanity -- and also about the transcending consciousness of living such as "The Man with the Hearing Aid", "Sleeping Cat", "Flying by Night" and its companion"The Voyager II Satellite".
February 11, 2010
I would read anything by Ted Kooser. This book is early Kooser, 1965-1985. It's not my favorite work of his, he honed/refined his observational style over the years, but there is some great work here. I love "The Goldfish floats to the top of his life" which speaks to so many of us trapped in the corporate world, and "Abandoned Farmhouse" which he also references in "The Poetry Home Repair Manual".
April 21, 2016
I love poetry! I find it similar to wine. The best kind is to be sipped at and enjoyed in spars amounts. The low quality can be downed three glasses at a time. I always find Ted Kooser to be among the best so it's no surprise to me that this book has taken me two years to finish. Reading my favorite passages over and over, like going back to your favorite drink. I found certain poems pairing perfectly with my different moods. The imagery is delightfuly delicious!
May 5, 2009
Poems that have dignity, but are not dignified. Except for the poem on the urine sample, which neither has dignity nor is dignified, and worse still, is not humorous.
December 9, 2020
Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985, by Ted Kooser, 1985. This book was a thoughtful gift from a long-time and geographically distant friend of mine who likes to read poetry and thought the rural subjects in Kooser’s poems would be appreciated by me. I appreciate the gift very much.
But the poems, not so much. Kooser is descriptive and sometimes clever. The poems are easy reads and in that way accessible. But I just don’t think there’s a lot there. I found little insight or even reflection. The poems seemed like random thoughts and quick sketches – not completely uninteresting, but somewhat shallow, unattached to any larger set of questions or themes that the poet is pursuing.
The value to me of reading this volume of Kooser’s poems (and he kept writing for a couple more decades, so it’s possible he got better), is that it made me ask what I wanted from poetry. Kooser’s poems were fanciful, the best of them the result of the free play of the imagination. That’s OK, but what I’m looking for are poets who seek deep understanding, wisdom, beauty, an expansion of perception and an exploration of the human condition. I gravitate to poets like Saigyo, the great Japanese poet of the 12th Century, or the Irish poets Seamus Heaney and William Butler Yeats. Mary Oliver’s poetry, too – seemingly light and very accessible, her verses can swiftly plunge deep and bring insight. And of course there are many others.
So, congratulations Ted Kooser on your Pulitzer Prize and term as U.S. Poet Laureate (appointed by President George W. Bush). Others like your poetry, I’m sure. It is good, just not great.
But the poems, not so much. Kooser is descriptive and sometimes clever. The poems are easy reads and in that way accessible. But I just don’t think there’s a lot there. I found little insight or even reflection. The poems seemed like random thoughts and quick sketches – not completely uninteresting, but somewhat shallow, unattached to any larger set of questions or themes that the poet is pursuing.
The value to me of reading this volume of Kooser’s poems (and he kept writing for a couple more decades, so it’s possible he got better), is that it made me ask what I wanted from poetry. Kooser’s poems were fanciful, the best of them the result of the free play of the imagination. That’s OK, but what I’m looking for are poets who seek deep understanding, wisdom, beauty, an expansion of perception and an exploration of the human condition. I gravitate to poets like Saigyo, the great Japanese poet of the 12th Century, or the Irish poets Seamus Heaney and William Butler Yeats. Mary Oliver’s poetry, too – seemingly light and very accessible, her verses can swiftly plunge deep and bring insight. And of course there are many others.
So, congratulations Ted Kooser on your Pulitzer Prize and term as U.S. Poet Laureate (appointed by President George W. Bush). Others like your poetry, I’m sure. It is good, just not great.
March 6, 2018
I dunno...I mean, obviously Ted Kooser's not terrible by any means and I'm glad I didn't give up on this book because the second half or so is a lot more engaging than the first. His imagery is killer and seems so effortless, but he couches it in too many poems about the maladies of the elderly...or barns. And if that's what you know, I suppose you've gotta be really good at what you're doing to make so many people love it...take it for the descriptions of the mundane, but don't expect much more than that.
April 17, 2018
The natural world, the blade of iris points to the sky, the sound of magpies as their offspring are murdered, a thank you to his mother, the sweetness of rain ~ experience, taste and smell the joy.
I have read this book several times. My copy has a dry piece of Elaphoglossum glaucum a tree fern from Costa Rica that I tried to grow. The dry cultivar sits on Christmas Eve poem pages, therefore I cannot re-read that poem for fear it will crumble into dust.
Perhaps I will be brave enough to allow the epiphyte freedom of air
I have read this book several times. My copy has a dry piece of Elaphoglossum glaucum a tree fern from Costa Rica that I tried to grow. The dry cultivar sits on Christmas Eve poem pages, therefore I cannot re-read that poem for fear it will crumble into dust.
Perhaps I will be brave enough to allow the epiphyte freedom of air
September 12, 2023
Some of Kooser's poems have the quality of Hopper paintings—that sense of observing the commonplace and ordinary and seeing in it something mysterious, poignant, even romantic.
Highway 30
At two in the morning, when the moon
has driven away,
leaving the faint taillight of one star
at the horizon, a light
like moonlight leaks
from broken crates that lie fallen
along the highway, becoming
motels, all-night cafes, and bus stations
with greenhouse windows,
where lone women sit like overturned flowerpots,
crushing the soft, gray petals of old coats.
Highway 30
At two in the morning, when the moon
has driven away,
leaving the faint taillight of one star
at the horizon, a light
like moonlight leaks
from broken crates that lie fallen
along the highway, becoming
motels, all-night cafes, and bus stations
with greenhouse windows,
where lone women sit like overturned flowerpots,
crushing the soft, gray petals of old coats.
November 8, 2018
This is so close to a one star for me. So many of the poems are just sad or depressing and some were just plain weird to me. I checked this out at the library expecting to love it and then later buy it but not now.
There were very few poems I liked in this book. I'm guessing 5-8% was about it. Apparently from the other reviews people love it but I'm willing to be odd-man-out here. Just not my cup of tea at all.
There were very few poems I liked in this book. I'm guessing 5-8% was about it. Apparently from the other reviews people love it but I'm willing to be odd-man-out here. Just not my cup of tea at all.
May 26, 2019
Yes, this is the 2nd book of Kooser's I read concurrently with another I just posted a review for.
I really cannot add anything about his original poetry that showed me a believable portrait of America for the years the poems in this book were written. His work may be regional, but it felt like I could see each painting he created.
Easy to see why he was selected (TWO TIMES) and the Poet laureate for the USA.
I really cannot add anything about his original poetry that showed me a believable portrait of America for the years the poems in this book were written. His work may be regional, but it felt like I could see each painting he created.
Easy to see why he was selected (TWO TIMES) and the Poet laureate for the USA.
February 16, 2021
This volume is subtitled "Poems 1965-1985" and it is actually two books combined, "Sure Signs: New and Selected Poems" (1985) and "One World at a Time" (1985). Kooser has gotten noticeably better over time (as most of us do). Some of these simply seem shallow. The magic that I found in his later work is barely noticeable here. There are sparks and those sparks become brighter in the second half of the book, the newer poems. Not as delightful as later work.
February 26, 2022
This is the first of Kooser's work I've read, and it really didn't do much for me. The themes are pastoral - a lot of empty barns, lonely aged farmers, animals preparing for winter. The standout though was the title poem, looking down from a plane, caught between the constellations above and the nebula of city lights below.
April 5, 2022
I absolutely love love love Ted Kooser's poetry. I cannot read enough of it! These were great, from the very first one which was self-deprecating, to the very end. Some made you stop and go hmmm. Others made me laugh. And others made me nostalgic for the good ole days. Can't wait to find more of his books to read. Highly recommend this collection.
May 25, 2024
Five P.M.
The pigeon flies to her resting place
on a window ledge above the traffic,
and her shadow, which cannot fly, climbs
swiftly over the bricks to meet her there.
Just so are you and I gathered at 5:00,
your bicycle left by the porch, the wind
still ringing in it, and my shoes by the bed,
still warm from walking home to you.
The pigeon flies to her resting place
on a window ledge above the traffic,
and her shadow, which cannot fly, climbs
swiftly over the bricks to meet her there.
Just so are you and I gathered at 5:00,
your bicycle left by the porch, the wind
still ringing in it, and my shoes by the bed,
still warm from walking home to you.
February 8, 2025
Lovely, tender poems of concentrated stillness. My first by Kooser, I enjoyed living in these delicately composed lines that rewrite the ordinary world into something electric and alive. These are simple poems that do a lot with a little, that perceive the mundane with such sensitivity as to allow the universe to share its secret wisdom. A great collection!
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