The Wind Has Died. Fate ; All But Invisible ; Dreaming or Awake? ; I Watched the Wind ; Winter Mornings ; Everyone Is Running Late ; The Music Box ; My Possessions ; My City ; Paradise Lounge ; November ; On This Street ; Where Do My Gallows Stand? ; Dear Lord ; The Mirage ; Pawnshop Window ; Object Matrimony ; Could That Be Me? -- Two: There Is Nothing Quieter ; The Big Lie ; Family Graveyard ; The Mystery ; A Huge Old Tree ; On York Beach ; One Summer ; Neighborhood Dogs ; An Old Woman ; The Poor Man's Horse ; Sunrise ; When in the Mood ; Two Widows ; Snapshot ; Adorable Bed ; Windy Day ; Crickets ; Pyramids and Sphinxes -- Three: Looking for Trouble -- Weather Forecast ; Walt Whitman ; Big Shot ; The Young Lady Said ; Memories of Hell ; Circus ; On the Way to Binghamton ; My Doubles ; In This Heavy Traffic ; The Funeral ; Left Out of the Bible ; I've Been Thinking Of ; In the Amusement Park ; Tango ; The Insomniac ; Hoot, Little Owl ; First Thing in the Morning -- Four: Some Folks Out Late -- The Crow ; Come Spring ; Cassiopeia ; Just So You Know ; I Never Forget Anything ; Night Thoughts ; Celebrity Sightings ; In the Lockdown ; Rainy Evening ; El Magnifico ; Summer Dusk ; My Love ; Dark Window ; Hot Summer Night ; All Over the World Now ; My Life Is as Real as Yours ; On Grove Street ; The Wind Has Died.
Summary:
From one of America's most beloved poets, a piercing new collection reflecting on the characters and encounters that haunt us through this life and into the next. Leading us into a city stirring with gravediggers and beggars, lovers and dogs, Charles Simic returns with a brilliant collection full of his singular wit, dark humor, and tenderheartedness. In poems that are often as spare as they are monumental, he captures the fleeting moments of modern life--peering inside pawnshop windows, brushing shoulders with strangers on the street, and walking familiar cemetery rows--to uncover all the beauty and worry hiding in plain sight. As the poet reflects on a lifetime's worth of pleasure and loss, he recalls instances when he "made excuses and hurried away," and considers the way memory always trails just behind. No Land in Sight is a testament to all we leave in our wake and, simultaneously, all we hang on to: the passing minutes, the evening's stillness, and the many lives we inhabit in dim thresholds and bright mornings alike.
This resource is supported by the Institute of Museum and Library Services under the provisions of the Library Services and Technology Act as administered by State Library of Iowa.