Into It: Poems
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About this ebook
Strikingly contemporary new work by an acclaimed poet
Into It, Lawrence Joseph's fourth book of poems, is as bold a book as any in American poetry today-an attempt to give voice to the extremes of American reality in the time since, as Joseph puts it, "the game changed."
Joseph's first three books dramatized the challenge of maintaining one's self in a world in the hold of dehumanizing forces. The new book finds him in a time and place where "the immense enlargement / of our perspectives is confronted / by a reduction of our powers of action"-where the word "wargame" is a verb and "the weight of violence / is unparalleled in the history / of the species." Along the New York waterfront, on a crowded street, at the site where the World Trade Center stood: Joseph enters into these places to capture the thoughts and images, the colors and feelings, and the language that give the present its pressured complexity. Few contemporary writers have been able to shape this material into poetry, but Joseph has done so masterfully-in poems that are daring, searching, and classically satisfying.
Into It is a new work by a poet of great originality and scope.
Lawrence Joseph
Lawrence Joseph, the grandson of Lebanese and Syrian Catholic immigrants, was born and raised in Detroit. A graduate of the University of Michigan, University of Cambridge, and University of Michigan Law School, he is the author of several books of poetry, including So Where Are We?, and of the books of prose, Lawyerland, a non-fiction novel, and The Game Changed: Essays and Other Prose. He is the Tinnelly Professor of Law at St. John’s University School of Law and has also taught creative writing at Princeton. He lives in New York City.
Read more from Lawrence Joseph
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Reviews for Into It
3 ratings1 review
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I was attracted to this book because it has impressions of Detroit. And when I read it, I could put myself back in Detroit, where I lived for 18 years. These may not be meaningful to everyone, but something clicked when I read "I note in a Notebook" this: ... A figure, in the factory / behind the Jefferson Avenue Assembly marking and filing the parts of the new model prototype / Chryslers... I worked with the bus company whose garage was in the shadow of this auto plant and can imagine the scene with Lawrence Joseph."Woodward Avenue" is the big street in Detroit, and the poem starts off calling it "The destination, the destiny, a street,/ an avenue." For us who lived there, it was the destiny of the city, even if withered at this point.I also resonated with some lines in "In the Shape of Fate over my Father's Birth." I worked in pulbic transport in Detroit, and can well imagine hearing "The Trumbull streetcar screeched/ on the switch. The ratttling, old yellow Pwl Cars late at night..."9/11 is to some degree is memorialized in "Why Not Say What Happens", "this cloud ... isn't only ash and soot", it's everything including fear and memory.
Book preview
Into It - Lawrence Joseph
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
In It, Into It, Inside It, Down In
When One Is Feeling One’s Way
The Bronze-Green Gold-Green Foreground
I Note in a Notebook
Inclined to Speak
The Pattern-Parallel Map or Graph
Woodward Avenue
On That Side
What Do You Mean, What?
August Abstract
Why Not Say What Happens?
In a Mood
Unyieldingly Present
News Back Even Further Than That
Rubaiyat
Metamorphoses (After Ovid)
What Is There to Understand?
A Year Ago This June
In the Shape of Fate over My Father’s Birth
The Single Necessity
History for Another Time
That Too
The Game Changed
Once Again
Also by Lawrence Joseph
Praise for Into It
About the Author
Copyright
TO YOU, MY MUSE
… give me the voice
To tell the shifting story …
—OVID, The Metamorphoses
Moreover, in the world of actuality … one is always living a little out of it. There is a precious sentence in Henry James, for example, for whom everyday life was not much more than the business of living, but, all the same, he separated himself from it. The sentence is … To live in the world of creation—to get into it and stay in it—to frequent it and haunt it—to think intensely and fruitfully—to woo combinations and inspirations into being by a depth and continuity of attention and meditation—this is the only thing.
—WALLACE STEVENS
IN IT, INTO IT, INSIDE IT, DOWN IN
How far to go?—I have to, I know,
I promised. But how? How, and when?
And where? It was cold. The sky,
blue, almost burst, leaves burnished
yellow. Nearing Liberty, Liberty
and Church streets. So it happened
in early November. Which is to say
a story took place. Once again
new lines, new colors. One scene
and then another. Characters talking
to one another. It was she who
opened the conversation. "A wild rose,
and grapes on vines along the ground,
a butterfly on the green palmetto,
plums the size of walnuts, gray
and vermilion"—she sat up straighter,
lips pressed together, looking me
square in the eyes—"and why, you tell me why,
in this time of so many claims to morality,
the weight of violence
is unparalleled in the history
of the species…" What needs to be said—
why not say it? "Who dares to learn
what concerns him intimately,"
is how