Product Description

Philip Levine's new collection of poems (his first since The Simple Truth was awarded the Pulitzer Prize) is a book of journeys: the necessary ones that each of us takes from innocence to experience, from youth to age, from confusion to clarity, from sanity to madness and back again, from life to death, and occasionally from defeat to triumph. The book's mood is best captured in the closing lines of the title poem, which takes its name from the ship that brought the poet's mother to America: A nine-year-old girl travels all night by train with one suitcase and an orange. She learns that mercy is something you can eat again and again while the juice spills over your chin, you can wipe it away with the back of your hands and you can never get enough.

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Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #555555 in Books
• Published on: 2000-10-24
• Released on: 2000-10-24
• Original language: English
• Dimensions: 9.00" h x .33" w x 5.74" l, .31 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 96 pages

From Amazon.com
Over the last four decades, Philip Levine has earned a reputation as America's consummate blue-collar bard--a kind of postindustrial Walt Whitman, albeit one with a taste for surrealism and bebop. To a degree, of course, this is an accurate picture. Levine has written about the working life with a hard-nosed clarity and tenderness that few American poets can match: it's no accident that his pivotal 1991 collection was called What Work Is. Still, his penchant for lunch-bucket lyricism has tended to overshadow his other gifts, of which there are many. For starters, Levine is a superb elegiac poet. His imaginative engagement with the past enlivened almost every line in The Simple Truth, which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1994. And his 17th collection, The Mercy, entails a similar search for lost time--even as it demonstrates the mournful, memorializing power of language itself.

In the first part of The Mercy, Levine mostly re-creates the Detroit factories, machine shops, and neighborhoods of his youth. Here are the "six bakeries, four barber shops, a five and dime, / twenty beer gardens, a Catholic church with a shul / next door where we studied the Talmud-Torah." Whether these were the good or bad old days depends, needless to say, on your point of view. But Levine seldom overlooks the pitfalls of what he calls "merely village life, / exactly what our parents left in Europe / brought to American with pure fidelity." Elsewhere he celebrates his predecessors (Federico García Lorca, César Vallejo, Charlie Parker) and contemporaries (most notably Sonny Rollins, in "The Unknowable"). In every case the poet squeezes the maximum music out of his compact, unfussy lines. He also has a genius for imparting meaning, and even grandeur, to the trashiest particulars. Note his take on one piece of industrial detritus in "Drum":

On the galvanized tin roof the tunes of sudden rain.
The slow light of Friday morning in Michigan,
the one we waited for, shows seven hills
of scraped earth topped with crab grass,
weeds, a black oil drum empty, glistening
at the exact center of the modern world.

Who but Levine would have nudged this empty (but resonant!) receptacle to stage center? This must be what they mean by poetic reclamation--in every sense of the word. --James Marcus

From Publishers Weekly
"Work was something that thrived on fire, that without/ fire couldn't catch its breath or hang on for life," Levine recalls of the working-class Detroit of his childhood. This 18th collection continues a career-long project of lending permanence to modern, work-governed life. Typically, Levine tirelessly uncovers "the daily round of the world,/ three young men in dirty work clothes/ on their way under a halo/ of torn clouds and famished city birds," slightly tempering a bitter reality with the steady, romantic presence of "the wind/ bringing hope in the morning/ and carrying off our exhaust / as the light goes each evening." The result is an inclusive archive of American experience sympathetically human, dramatized in his signature persona poems like "After Leviticus" and "The Evening Turned Its Back Upon Her Voice," which infuse fleeting things ("the few pale tulips and irises"; "salami cut so thin/ the light shone through the slices") with the power to shape self-awareness. While he shares with James Wright the rare ability to honor the dignity of human labor, this volume, more than the last two (The Simple Truth; What Work Is), does so to the near banishment of much else?compelling phrasing, avoidance of the trite. There is some respite, however, at the volume's end, where an account of his mother's ocean journey to America on "The Mercy" is followed by her private funeral, in "The Secret": "you weren't/ there as you're not in this haze,/ nor in the first evening breeze."
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
This is distinguished poet Levine's 18th book of poems and his first since The Simple Truth (LJ 11/1/94) was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. Levine's is above all, perhaps, the art that conceals art: his elegiac ruminations on his upbringing in Detroit and his ancestors and friends are so unobtrusively and cleanly made that their emotional and intellectual richness arrive almost as an aftertaste. In his search for the "nothing at all except the stubbornness of things" that lies behind memory and longing, Levine explores, with unprecedented clarity, the humility, the difficulty, and the silences of immigrant and working-class life in America. His work, like the mercy of the title poem, "is something you can eat again and again...and you can never get enough." Highly recommended.AGraham Christian, Andover-Harvard Theological Lib., Cambridge, MA
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.