I've been trying to make the case that it is possible to write interesting poetry without using the standard techniques of post-postmodernism, which is driven mainly by non-stop metaphor on the one hand or self-referential language manipulation on the other. I've thought that this alternative, minority approach to writing poems, which I think derives ultimately from West Coast encounters with traditional Chinese and Japanese poetry, has been characteristic of several California poets, whose work for the most part has been consistently ignored.
I've never met Luke Breit, whose first book
Celebrating America Within appeared in San Francisco in 1975. I still own a copy of it which I bought at Moe's 35 years ago, and I still like the poems, especially this one:
Evening
Evening comes like this:
first, it is just
those little trails of mist
you probably don't even notice,
there, just above the river.
Before long, it moves
up the beaches, hiding
in those long cold shadows,
that you try to stay out of.
Suddenly, without warning,
it flashes like lightning
above the entire village.
When you come home
from the store
with your simple food,
you don't need to turn on lights
until you've taken off your coat,
and there's evening,
tumbling out of its sleeve.
It's awfully difficult to write poems that are as apparently simple as this one, as one can easily verify by trying it oneself. It's just the right procession of images, the right choice of words ("just like this"), leading to just the right climax.
One nice thing about poetry "just like this" is that it doesn't require much interpretation, so I want to add here a poem from Luke's most recent collection which is entitled
Unintended Lessons:
Let It Come
At two, a street lamp sprays
its damp light
over the old oak tree on the alley.
The birds have grown quiet
and even the cars are still.
When I stop begging for it,
sleep drifts in
through an open window.
In his intro to Celebrating America Within, Luke credits Gene Ruggles and James Wright as influences; in spirit anyway the following poem seems to me like something that Rexroth might have been happy to write:
Fort Ross
At dusk I stand on this rock
near people I love.
At the edge of the world
the sun disappears
suddenly
like a coin placed in a slot.
The air darkens.
The ocean is steady
against the cove.
Hundreds of feet down the cliff
the old burned out car
continues to rust.
One wonders if that rusty car is still there.
_____________________________
Luke Breit is Chair of the Environmental Caucus, California Democratic Party. His latest poetry book, Unintended Lessons, is available at Amazon.com.
