Gerald Stern has been a significant presence and an impassioned and idiosyncratic voice in twentieth and twenty-first-century American poetry. Insane Devotion is a retrospective of his career and features fourteen writers, critics, and poets examining the themes, stylistic traits, and craft of a poet who has shaped and inspired American verse for generations. The essays and interviews in Insane Devotion paint a broad picture of a man made whole by the influence of the written word. They touch on the contentious and nuanced stance of Judaism in the breadth of Stern’s work and explore Stern’s capacious memory and his use of personal history to illuminate our common humanity. What is revealed is a poet of complexity and heart, often tender, often outraged. As Philip Levine writes in his lyrical foreword to the volume, Stern is both sweet and spiky, “a born teacher who can teach me to see the universe in an acorn and hear the music of the lost in an empty Pepsi can.”
From "a genuine American Dostoevsky" (The Washington Post): a dazzling, funny, bittersweet exploration of the mysteries of relationship, both human and animal. When his favorite cat Biscuit goes missing, Peter Trachtenberg sets out to find her. The journey takes him 700 miles and many years into his past-- into the history of his relationships with cats and the history of his relationship with his wife F., who may herself be on the verge of disappearing. What ensues is a work that recalls travel narratives from The Incredible Journey to W. G. Sebald's The Rings of Saturn. Trachtenberg ponders the mysteries of feline intelligence (why do cats score worse on some tests than pigeons?), the origins of their domestication, their terrible treatment during the Middle Ages. He also looks at the riddle of why any of us loves whom we love and all the unforeseen places to which that devotion leads us.
Poetry. Jewish Studies. Philip Terman's latest poetry collection, THIS CRAZY DEVOTION, begins appropriately enough with "Tormented Meshuggenehs," "the crazy sages... / who dervished across the hayfields / and paused to yawp a parable to the cows about the seven beggars..." This passage announces much about the poetry that follows: that its craziness indeed is of the order of devotion in the spiritual sense, rooted in Judaism; and also that it often takes place in bucolic surroundings, rooted in the land. And why is this a little surprising, this conjunction of Jewish life and rural setting? For Terman they are seamless and sacred, and by portraying his Jewishness as woven through a life and landscape familiar to many (non-Jewish) readers, he dispels stereotypes and creates a community of mutual recognition and understanding. That would be virtue enough to applaud this collection, but it offers many other pleasures. "I am talking about this world, there is no other," he declares in the long and lovely meditative "Garden Chronicle" that forms the final section of the book. Such a world it is, full of all of the things to which he is crazily devoted, all of the things he writes about with such acuity and tenderness in these poems: heritage and faith, social justice, poetry, and even (in the title poem) almost meeting Bob Dylan--but foremost, his family and nature, both of which sustain him. He communes with ancestors, a grandfather he was too young to remember, who must have sung to him in Yiddish (and who, he supposes, just might have posed for Chagall). He imagines the radio interview his father might have given, replete with Borscht Belt humor, and recalls going for bagels with "the schlemiel... / who dated your sister-in-law / after your brother died." He devotes the second section, "Of Longing and Chutzpah," to memories of his mother, and in one of the most humorous and poignant moments recalls how in childhood his mother cut his hair to save money, an act Terman likens to "sculpting" him into all the things she might have wished him to be, "the boy she wants to be a mensch." (Based on the accounting he gives here, she succeeded. She also carved out a considerable poet.) Most of all, he writes of "The love of the long married," of children "at the kitchen table / doing homework," waiting on a school bus which arrives bearing all the hopes and happiness in the world. He gives the last word to the daughter whose question "After Later?" signifies "no set time, farther than the horizon, / on top of the sky, around the bend, outside this moment we're in" when, perhaps "all those things they said would happen / must surely have occurred." Such a lovely description of faith, so worthy of devotion.
Dogs now dominate the $48 billion a year pet business, with nearly 40 percent of American households owning a total of 77.5 million dogs. Dog products, dog services, dog admiration - okay, let's call it dog worship - has become totally over the top. If you have a dog-obsessed friend or relative, you've seen the phenomenon. Or maybe you're a dog owner and lover, and have found yourself buying, doing, craving, needing dog-related items (doggie treadmills, dog swimming pools, caffeine-free doggie java) and services (doggie massage, dog perfume, aromatherapy, hair coloring, and yes, doggie tattoos) that would have seemed outlandish a generation ago when applied to your everyday household Rover. But Rover isn't called Rover anymore, he's called Rufus. Or Lola, according to the Tumblog Hipster Puppies. In fact, all Top Ten Dog Names are people names. And the canine Rufus doesn't stay home alone all day; he goes to Doggie Daycare. Eats brightly-frosted martini-shaped doggie treats. Wears designer tutus. Gets married on the beach. Has... Well, you'll see. Rabid is a catalog of how over-the-top our dog obsession had become. It's a book aimed not only at dog skeptics but at dog lovers and the people who love them. Funny, fun, yet holding a mirror up to our dog-centered society, Rabid will help us laugh at our own behavior and at the even-more-insane antics of all those other dog people. And it will give some solace to the 60 percent of us who've so far evaded America's dog mania. Photos throughout.
