100 Books Like Ledger

My experience of reading this book is wooly, smokey, visceral, and consuming. His poetry takes a microscope to the guts, the excrement, the feel underfoot of the natural world. Just as he takes me into the detailed realm of the beech tree or lizard, he swoops me into the emotional feel-scape of loss, grief, belonging, and isolation.

Gander’s use of language is relatable and also stark, new, and encyclopedic. This book is perhaps his most famous work, having earned him a Pulitzer. It is condensed and distilled as rare bitters; open the bottle and let its pungent spirit subsume you.

The poems in this book are intimate conversations between the living, the dead, and the soul. I love these poems because they are at once piercingly direct and also delicate and loving. As my parents enter the final years of their lives, I find myself both celebrating my time left with them and also pre-grieving their loss.

Clifton courses this transom, above and below the ground, with a surety of craft that I can only aspire to in my own work. This collection includes a daily poem journal covering the seven days starting with 9/11. I am struck by this sequence of poems in their ability to cover the nation’s fear and grief, the commonality of the global experience, and the minutely personal, all in a few short lines.

Ah, Carver…where do I begin? This collection is packed with gems that, as Dylan sang, glow like burning coal. Carver’s poems make me want to drink too much, lament, get sober, and love so hard that my heart cracks open. These poems make me want to live a damn full life. Most of all, Carver makes me want to blow the shavings off my pencil and write.

This collection is a conversation with poetry and art itself; Carver invokes the pantheon from Balzac to Hemingway to Renoir. I want to join that conversation and write for dear life.

The book contains 70 sonnets, all with the same title as the book. Quick-witted, ironic, and politically dedicated to good cause, Hayes speaks from his own experience as an African-American: “Probably twilight makes blackness dangerous/Darkness. Probably all my encounters/Are existential Jambalaya.” 

Winner of the National Book Award for his earlier work, Lighthead, he is a poet to watch for his moral sense and mastery of poetic form. The book was written in the first two hundred days of the first Trump presidency.

Saigyo (1118-1190) was one of the most influential Japanese poets. His name means "Westward Journey" which implies moving toward the Pure Land of Amitabha Buddha. The poems bring out the bitter-sweet quality of life, beauty and loneliness, blooming spring and frosty winter, cherry petals and tears that fall, echoing the deep emotionality and mystery of the spirit of Japanese Buddhism.

Bashō’s poetic narrative of a journey he made in 1689 to northeastern Honshū is the most famous travelogue in Japanese literature. As a college student in 1970, I read a translation and imagined someday following the path of his journey to see what he saw. Over three decades later, I had the time, resources, and knowledge to make several road trips to do just that. After reading various translations, I found Sato’s the most helpful in understanding why Bashō visited the places he did and what his narrative and poems were about. As we drove along Bashō’s roads, Sato’s annotated text provided insights into the history and culture of Japan and its Tōhoku region. 

Westlake, a poet of Native Hawaiian ancestry, incorporates influences from Chinese Taoist and Japanese haiku poetry, Dada concrete poetry, the writings of Kerouac and Bukowski, as well as local pidgin and Hawaiian literary traditions. Westlake’s editor and friend Richard Hamasaki writes that the early poems are “calm, contemplative, and serene, often playful, celebratory”—humans interacting with nature, from rain, moonlight, and mountains, to bugs, frogs, and dandelions: “Looks of disbelief: / I’m on my knees / Washing a rock.” The later poems are political: “Westlake blasts away at Waikiki’s rampant tourism and American materialism, which replaced the native culture in his native land. He wonders, “how we spose / feel Hawaiian anymoa / barefeet buying smokes / in da seven eleven stoa ...?”

Charles Causley’s poems celebrate every turn of Cornwall’s stride. He writes of the sea, towns, moors, and people with incredible imagery humor, and tragedy.

The poems ask questions of love and nature. "And careless, like tide-marks, the hedges / Are bursting with Almond and May." Causley sings the magic of Cornwall, ‘Its anchor is glittering granite," "His smile was sharp as tin."

My favorites are the ballads, I was inspired to write the Caradoc ballads by reading Causley’s ballads over and over. Folklore underpins many of his poems, there are mermaids, giants, saints, and even a baby devil.

If you love Borges, and thought you’d read everything he wrote, this is the book for you—a collection of his “lost lectures,” delivered at Harvard in 1967-68 and finally published in 2000. And if you want to hear the actual voice of a creative genius, as if risen from the dead, the recordings are also available. Best known for his intricate short stories and essays, Borges was also—perhaps foremost—a poet. As he puts it in the book, “The central fact of my life has been the existence of words and the possibility of weaving those words into poetry.” Starting from the creation of poems, Borges explores the creation of metaphors, meaning, and life’s irreducible mystery.

I read so much poetry in prison—words about survival, and loss, and absence. But one thing I did not read was poetry about people who’d been in prison like me, and wish I had. This poetry collection wasn’t out then, but I think I would have loved it if it were.