By DWIGHT GARNER - New York Times - Published: March 13, 2012
Several people in my life revere Jack Gilbert. They push photocopies of his poems solemnly across tables at me, as if they were salary offers or handguns or unusual drugs. Here, they say. Read this.
COLLECTED POEMS
By Jack Gilbert
408 pages. Alfred A. Knopf. $35.
Jack Gilbert - photo - Robert Toby
Among the poems by Mr. Gilbert that are passed around like samizdat is a bonsai-size heartbreaker titled “Games,” from his 1982 collection, “Monolithos.” Here is that poem in its entirety:
Imagine if suffering were real.
Imagine if those old people were afraid of death.
What if the midget or the girl with one arm
really felt pain? Imagine how impossible it would be
to live if some people were
alone and afraid all their lives.
This is a poem that, watching cable news, you long to staple to certain pundits’ foreheads.
“Games” is in some respects a good example of Mr. Gilbert’s work. It is plain-spoken, unmetered, pared to essentials. It’s as weathered as a piece of driftwood or a late Chet Baker song.
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