海角大神

When Kevin Young鈥檚 father was killed in a hunting accident a decade ago, Young鈥檚 grief took the form of verse 鈥� a natural response for a young poet who, with eight collections of verse to his name, is already a significant presence in contemporary poetry.

Young鈥檚 latest collection, Book of Hours, begins with his father鈥檚 death but then moves 鈥� as has Young鈥檚 life 鈥� to the joy surrounding his own son鈥檚 birth.
Pairing death and birth in this collection 鈥渨asn鈥檛 exactly a decision,鈥� Young explains in a phone interview. 鈥淚t鈥檚 more trying to write about the life that I was living.鈥� Life is full of passages, says Young. 鈥淧oetry marks them better than anything.鈥�

In the early pages of 鈥淏ook of Hours,鈥� Young鈥檚 loss feels universal, engulfing his father鈥檚 dogs and neighbors. The dogs鈥� grief is 鈥渃olossal/ & forgetful./ Each day they wake/ seeking his voice,/ their names./ By dusk they seem to unremember everything....鈥�

Yet at night, Young imagines, 鈥淚 expect they pace/ as I do....鈥�

By day Young tends to details, such as collecting his father鈥檚 鈥渆rrant dry cleaning.鈥� The dry cleaner refuses his money as a woman at the store tells him 鈥渉ow funny鈥� his father was, how he 鈥渏oked with her weekly.鈥�

But now the newly cleaned clothes must go to Goodwill 鈥渢o live on another/ body/ & day.鈥�

It is poetry, Young believes, that offers solace. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not about looking away or pretending everything is okay, but of saying, 鈥榯his is what it was like,鈥� 鈥� says Young. Poetry is 鈥渢he hand outheld or outstretched to help you make that journey back from the dark.鈥�

鈥淏ook of Hours鈥� moves on to chronicle the arrival of Young鈥檚 son. In a poem called 鈥淓xpecting鈥� he listens to the baby in the womb: 鈥渓ike hearing/ hip-hop for the first time 鈥� power/ hijacked from a lamppost 鈥� all promise./ You couldn鈥檛 sound better, break-/ dancer, my favorite song bumping/ from a passing car.鈥� Young鈥檚 earlier poems now have fresh purpose: 鈥淢y son [can] know something of my father.鈥�

For Young, poetry is essential. 鈥淚t tells us something about ourselves that nothing else can,鈥� he says. He sees it as 鈥渁n utterance of the place we live, the changes, the music that is possible in human existence.鈥�

Young first encountered poetry at the age of 13. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know any poets growing up in Kansas,鈥� he says, but he liked 鈥渢he language and [its] strangeness.鈥� But it was as a young adult that he discovered that poetry was 鈥渟omething in my own backyard, something I could make out of dirt and air.鈥�

Today, as a professor of creative writing at Emory University in Atlanta, Young helps other writers learn to shape raw elements into words. But for Young, writing is no mere intellectual exercise.

鈥淏ook of Hours鈥� ends with the line: 鈥淲hy not sing.鈥� 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want that to be a question,鈥� explains Young. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a kind of declaration of ... resilience, of survival, of joy鈥� 鈥� and, just as emphatically, 鈥渙f poetry鈥檚 place鈥� in human life.

Marjorie Kehe is the Monitor books editor.