Billy Collins is far and away
my favorite poet. His simple language,
profound insights, and humorous poems are my ideal, My goal is to write a poem
which causes a reader to think, “that reminds me of Billy Collins.” Whenever Collins comes out with a new volume
of poetry, I buy and devour a it as quickly as I can. Published this month, Aimless Love: New and Selected Poems is his tenth collection.
In this case I immediately
flipped to the last section containing the new poems. Fifty nuggets awaited my attention. My favorite is “Foundling.” “How unusual to be living a life of continual
self-expression, / jotting down little things, / noticing a leaf being carried
down a stream, / then wondering what will become of me, // and finally to work
alone under a lamp / as if everything depended on this, / groping blindly down
a page, like someone lost in a forest. // And to think it all began one night /
on the steps of a nunnery / where I lay gazing up from a sewing basket, / which
was doubling for a proper baby carrier, // staring into the turbulent winter
sky, too young to wonder about anything / including my recent abandonment-- /
but it was there that I committed // my first act of self-expression, /
sticking out my infant tongue / and receiving in return (I can see it now) / a
large, pristine snowflake much like any other” (175).
His nature poems also affect
me deeply. In “Osprey,” Collins sketches
a scene I have lived through myself many times.
He writes, “Oh, large brown, thickly-feathered creature / with a
distinctive white head, / you, perched on the top branch / of a tree near the
lake shore, // as soon as I guide this boat back to the dock / and walk up the
grassy path to the house, / before I unzip my windbreaker / and lift the
binoculars from around my neck, // before I wash the gasoline from my hands, /
before I tell anyone I am back, / and before I hang the ignition key on its
nail, / or pour myself a drink-- // I’m thinking a vodka soda with lemon-- / I
will look you up in my / illustrated guide to North American birds / and I
promise I will learn what you are called” (208).
Collins has written a number
of poems about writing and poetry, and this volume contains one about
reading. The title is “Reader,” and he
wrote: “Looker, gazer, skimmer, skipper, / thumb-licking page turner, peruser,
/ you getting your print-fix for the day, pencil chewer, not taker,
marginalianist / with your checks and X’s / firs-timer or revisiter, / browser,
speedster, English Major, / flight-ready girl, melancholy boy, / invisible
companion, thief, blind date, perfect stranger-- // that is me rushing to the
window / to see if it’s you passing under the shade trees / with a baby carriage or a dog on a leash, /
me picking up the phone / to imagine your unimaginable number, me standing by a
map of the world / wondering where you are-- / alone on a bench in a train
station / or falling asleep, the book sliding to the floor?” (xix).
Aimless Love
by Billy Collins is a wonderful way to introduce yourself to his work. I bet you will soon find a collection of all
his volumes of poetry, silently standing guard amid the Cs on a bookshelf,
patiently awaiting your call. 5 stars
--Chiron, 10/28/13
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