Ted Kooser, “After Years”

So with my new job and writing gig, I’ve slacked off on the weekly poetry analysis I was so excited to feature on this blog, but now that I’ve got a better understanding of the way my work day is structured, I return to my regularly scheduled programming. (I write all of these on the weekend. Yay for the Scheduled Posts feature!)

As Valentine’s Day is safely behind us, I bring you a heart-cramping piece by American poet laureate (2004 – 2006), Ted Kooser. A romantic pragmatist hailing from the Heartland, Kooser champions directness both in his work and teaching methods.

If you’ve ever been interested in the craft of writing anything, I strongly recommend his Poetry Home Repair Manual. It’s accessible, funny, and informative. I love the unpretentious approach he uses to deliver insights on what’s made some of the most effective poetry of the last 150 years.

In the chapter, “Writing About Feelings”, Kooser demonstrates how to express an emotion without saying what it is. You know, only one of the hardest objectives in writing ever.

I think most people understand on a theoretical level that being “on the nose” can produce weak results. Half (or more) of the power of an event is supplied by the reader – it’s a team effort with the old, “Show, don’t tell.” The challenge, Kooser says, is to set the scene, mood, and pacing and let your audience fill in the rest.

Without further ado:
(click to hear it in my weird voice)

After Years

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer’s retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.

What do you think? This is one of my favorite poems. All show and explicitly no telling. I love how even the vastness and force of the imagery are silenced. That killer part about the exploding star reminds me of another Midwestern writer and his use of the same image; not scaled down so much as transposed…

“… A little off guard and unprepared.”

Closing on a personal note, “After Years” reminds me of when I was seventeenish, hanging out with my best friend at the town Wal-Mart. (Seriously, that’s where kids went to kill time in Podunk Place, NM.) We were halfway out the door when I saw him across the parking lot – the high school crush to end all crushes – riding a train of carts to their corral. My breath turned solid in my lungs and my heart doubled its speed. I grabbed my friend’s hand and held it down hard on my breastbone just so I’d have a witness to what was going on inside me. She was grossed out, but I think she understood.

Without the awkward violation of personal space, Kooser did a much better job of sharing this feeling.