Before It's Light

Lyn Lifshin

Lyn Lifshin is one of those poets who just keeps getting better as she gets older. She spent years, it always seemed to me, trying to be a sort of imagist Bukowski; she outgrew that a ways back and rounded into her own style. Her work since has gained a rare and delicate power, and with every passing book, it gets more all-encompassing.

There are few words to say about Lifshin that have not already been said; I'll just let the images speak for themselves.

Now cliff swallows nest in the mud
where the Sinaqua
lived
until water ran out

High in these white cliffs
weaving yucca and cotton

How many nights did they
listen for cougar
as they pressed the wet
rust clay
into bowls
that they walked
200 miles to trade in Phoenix
before it was time to leave
(“Arizona Ruins”)

Pure, simple image, with all the power vested inside, and no annoying blocks of message to dilute the power of the words. Lifshin reiterates her worth of being placed alongside Hayden Carruth, Ira Sadoff, and the rest of the modern poets who will someday make up the canon. An easy entry on this year's best-of list.