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xterminal's review
4.0
Ira Sadoff, A Northern Calendar (David R. Godine, 1982)
Ira Sadoff is one of the finest and most underrated poets working in America today. Every book of his that crosses my desk reinforces this position. This thin collection (and one wonders what David R. Godine was thinking, charging $8.95 for a 32-page chapbook all the way back in 1982!) is as fine as anything that has come from Sadoff's pen before or since, at least of the work of his that I've read (some of his books are frustratingly hard to come by these days).
Sadoff's gentle, storytelling style, insistence on imagery rather than simple value judgment, and ability to get right to the point show what a poet who is academically-infused enough to nod at the canon in every poem and yet accessible enough for the common reader to understand what he's on about can do. And Sadoff is one of at most a handful of poets working in America today who can do so. Of those, he is arguably the best (Hayden Carruth also competes for the title with every release):
"Can you miss a place you've never been?
I remember waking once, the sharp chill
of Stockholm singing from my sleep, harbors
crowded with so many ships the water seemed
precarious, superfluous. I was waving goodbye
to my mother and thought only of my setting
at the table. My meal. How I wanted it saved."
("On First Sighting a Man")
Sadoff deserves far more recognition than he's gotten. As with all of the other books of his that I've read, this will both make a fine starting point for the novice and a pleasurable read for the existing fan. Excellent. ****
Ira Sadoff is one of the finest and most underrated poets working in America today. Every book of his that crosses my desk reinforces this position. This thin collection (and one wonders what David R. Godine was thinking, charging $8.95 for a 32-page chapbook all the way back in 1982!) is as fine as anything that has come from Sadoff's pen before or since, at least of the work of his that I've read (some of his books are frustratingly hard to come by these days).
Sadoff's gentle, storytelling style, insistence on imagery rather than simple value judgment, and ability to get right to the point show what a poet who is academically-infused enough to nod at the canon in every poem and yet accessible enough for the common reader to understand what he's on about can do. And Sadoff is one of at most a handful of poets working in America today who can do so. Of those, he is arguably the best (Hayden Carruth also competes for the title with every release):
"Can you miss a place you've never been?
I remember waking once, the sharp chill
of Stockholm singing from my sleep, harbors
crowded with so many ships the water seemed
precarious, superfluous. I was waving goodbye
to my mother and thought only of my setting
at the table. My meal. How I wanted it saved."
("On First Sighting a Man")
Sadoff deserves far more recognition than he's gotten. As with all of the other books of his that I've read, this will both make a fine starting point for the novice and a pleasurable read for the existing fan. Excellent. ****
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