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Resonance
Poetry. Richard Jackson's 10th collection of poems, RESONANCE, juxtaposes love and loss, often setting a transcending hope against individual tragedies in various world conflicts, or letting images drawn from science collide against our deepest emotions, to capture the conflicting, sometimes simultaneous joys and griefs of being human. Drawing deeply from contemporary American life and from the ancient myths of Western culture, Jackson's words are sure to resonate with every reader. About RESONANCE in particular, and about Richard Jackson's work as a whole, James Tate puts it "Richard Jackson has become one of our most important poets. His subjects are those for which poetry originally came into being. The essentials are his songs, his precepts, his adoration, his companions. It isn't any simple solace he offers, but it's solace nonetheless that he lends us."
- GenresPoetry
108 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
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About the author
Richard Jackson
185 books27 followersLibrarian's note: There is more than one author in the database with this name. Not all books on this profile belong to the same person.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
September 21, 2024
I don’t know what else
to tell you. The cicadas’ feet are stirring to song. Maybe
resonance is the texture of feeling, the depth of a look that is
something like the shadows stars cast on the sky.
*
I used to think that any love we could
find is enough. It isn’t. It isn’t enough to plant our precious
gardens of hope in the sky. It isn’t enough to write
by the fading candle of our eyes. It isn’t enough to read
some future by the petals of the flower. Never enough.
We have to understand this love in the way the thorn defends it.
We can't let the moon rest its drowsy head on our rooftops.
We have to capture every wayward flash on the night sky and
not let our words burn up in the atmosphere.
[...]
Sometimes we have to hold hands with our own nightmares.
When I tell you that the voice of the nightingale turns dark
you have to understand what this love is trying to overcome,
you have to know that if you ever leave, if you ever disappear,
the sky would rip, and the stars would lose their way.
*
Destiny
wears her clothes inside out. Each desire is a memory of the future.
The past is a fake cloud we’ve pasted to a paper sky. That is
why our dreams are the most real thing we possess.
*
I used to think Love would protect us from the shadows
we cast. I used to think that Hope was not what
jingled in our pockets. I used to think all this loneliness
would be unbearable. Now each word is a betrayal,
is the frayed rope-end of desire. Everything I say is
like some cargo hidden in the hold of a sunken ship.
In the end we all learn there’s no sea, no sky, no word
big enough to hold all our pain. Only this kiss. Only
Love’s dragline already hooking the very thing it fears.
to tell you. The cicadas’ feet are stirring to song. Maybe
resonance is the texture of feeling, the depth of a look that is
something like the shadows stars cast on the sky.
*
I used to think that any love we could
find is enough. It isn’t. It isn’t enough to plant our precious
gardens of hope in the sky. It isn’t enough to write
by the fading candle of our eyes. It isn’t enough to read
some future by the petals of the flower. Never enough.
We have to understand this love in the way the thorn defends it.
We can't let the moon rest its drowsy head on our rooftops.
We have to capture every wayward flash on the night sky and
not let our words burn up in the atmosphere.
[...]
Sometimes we have to hold hands with our own nightmares.
When I tell you that the voice of the nightingale turns dark
you have to understand what this love is trying to overcome,
you have to know that if you ever leave, if you ever disappear,
the sky would rip, and the stars would lose their way.
*
Destiny
wears her clothes inside out. Each desire is a memory of the future.
The past is a fake cloud we’ve pasted to a paper sky. That is
why our dreams are the most real thing we possess.
*
I used to think Love would protect us from the shadows
we cast. I used to think that Hope was not what
jingled in our pockets. I used to think all this loneliness
would be unbearable. Now each word is a betrayal,
is the frayed rope-end of desire. Everything I say is
like some cargo hidden in the hold of a sunken ship.
In the end we all learn there’s no sea, no sky, no word
big enough to hold all our pain. Only this kiss. Only
Love’s dragline already hooking the very thing it fears.
July 16, 2012
Richard Jackson's Resonance is a strong collection of seemingly stream of conscious, always smart, emotionally resonant poems. The long line, the weaving of ideas and images, the implied narratives, and the counterbalanced forces of a cruel world and sexual love--of what we know and what we feel--are brought to bear in wonderful and well conceived poems.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews