A Year of Last Things
Poems
-
- $15.99
-
- $15.99
Publisher Description
From one of the most influential writers of his generation, a gorgeously surprising poetry collection about memory, history, and the act of looking back
Following several of his internationally acclaimed novels, A Year of Last Things is Michael Ondaatje’s long-awaited return to poetry. In pieces that are sometimes witty, sometimes moving, and always wise, we journey back through time by way of alchemical leaps, unearthing writings by revered masters, moments of shared tenderness, and the abandoned landscapes we hold on to to rediscover the influence of every border crossed.
Moving from a Sri Lankan boarding school to Molière’s chair during his last stage performance, to Bulgarian churches and their icons, to the California coast and his beloved Canadian rivers, Michael Ondaatje casts a brilliant eye that merges memory with the present, in the way memory as the distant shores of art and lost friends continue to influence everything that surrounds him.
From his poem "His chair, a narrow bed, a motel room, the fox":
At the Hacienda Motel in Los Angeles Sam Cooke was shot dead.
‘See that shadow on the wall . . .’ All those motels and hotels
in literature and song, where X wrote this,
where Y got drunk, where Z overdosed.
The one Hank Williams was driven past, dead already in his car.
The Slavianski Bazaar Hotel in "The Lady with a Dog,"
where Dmitri imagines their dark but hopeful future.
The Hôtel de ville de Courtrai, where Verlaine shot Rimbaud.
The Casa Verdi in Milan, where retired opera singers were welcomed
along with various heteronyms of Fernando Pessoa in their afterlife.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The dazzling latest by Ondaatje (The Story) brings his formidable literary gifts and imagination to bear on questions of memory and artistic process. Tenderly plumbing friends, ex-lovers, works of art, and "echoing rivers where we lost and found ourselves," he writes of "all those small recalls of this and that/ before our walk up a staircase into the dark." Photographs serve as especially potent aides-mémoires, and retrospection is more playful than onerous, even when recollected moments retain their dangerous charge (like "that abandoned time" in boarding school under the reign of an abusive priest, "his large body belted with a Christian cord of rope"). Each experience exists "not as memory, but like a gift/ from forgetfulness." "Nothing stays still in a story," Ondaatje reminds the reader, and, indeed, the narrative impulse holds sway in these lyric poems: "your bare feet on a mosaic in Gaza that could perhaps guide you like a terza rima towards a safe place to complete your story." Poetry offers a place "beyond the familiar properties": "the breaking line's breath-like leap/ into the missed life// till there was no longer a story, only stillness/ or falling." Speaking from and into times of extraordinary loss, the speaker asks: "Now we are less. How do we become more?" This collection radiates the joy of a fully realized, literary life.
