Vox Populi
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Larry Levis: Family Romance
“Dressed to die … ”
—Dylan Thomas
.
Sister once of weeds & a dark water that held still
In ditches reflecting the odd,
Abstaining clouds that passed, & kept
Their own counsel, we
Were different, we kept our own counsel.
Outside the tool shed in the noon heat, while our father
Ground some piece of metal
That would finally fit, with grease & an hour of pushing,
The needs of the mysterious Ford tractor,
We argued out, in adolescence,
Whole systems of mathematics, ethics,
And finally agreed that altruism,
Whose long vowel sounded like the pigeons,
Roosting stupidly & about to be shot
In the barn, was impossible
If one was born a Catholic. The Swedish
Lutherans, whom the nuns called
“Statue smashers,” the Japanese on
Neighboring farms, were, we guessed,
A little better off ….
When I was twelve, I used to stare at weeds
Along the road, at the way they kept trembling
Long after a car had passed;
Or at gnats in families hovering over
Some rotting peaches, & wonder why it was
I had been born a human.
Why not a weed, or a gnat?
Why not a horse, or a spider? And why an American?
I did not think that anything could choose me
To be a Larry Levis before there even was
A Larry Levis. It was strange, but not strange enough
To warrant some design.
On the outside,
The barn, with flaking paint, was still off-white.
Inside, it was always dark, all the way up
To the rafters where the pigeons moaned,
I later thought, as if in sexual complaint,
Or sexual abandon; I never found out which.
When I walked in with a 12-gauge & started shooting,
They fell, like gray fruit, at my feet—
Fat, thumping things that grew quieter
When their eyelids, a softer gray, closed,
Part of the way, at least,
And their friends or lovers flew out a kind of skylight
Cut for loading hay.
I don’t know, exactly, what happened then.
Except my sister moved to Switzerland.
My brother got a job
With Colgate-Palmolive.
He was selling soap in Lodi, California.
Later, in his car, & dressed
To die, or live again, forever,
I drove to my own, first wedding.
I smelled the stale boutonniere in my lapel,
A deceased young flower.
I wondered how my brother’s Buick
Could go so fast, &,
Still questioning, or catching, a last time,
An old chill from childhood,
I thought: why me, why her, & knew it wouldn’t last.
Larry Levis (1946 – 1996) grew up driving a tractor, picking grapes, and pruning vines in Selma, California, a small fruit-growing town in the San Joaquin Valley. He published five award-winning books of poetry during his lifetime. Since his death from a heart attack caused by a cocaine overdose, three more volumes of his poetry, along with a book of essays, have been published to general acclaim.
Copyright © 1985 by Larry Levis. From Winter Stars (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.
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I was never so foolish as to tell a child candy wasn’t good food. Or to dissuade someone from adoring a poem apparently unaware of qualities like economy of means, selectivity, unity of effect, and avoidance of self-satisfaction.
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Wow. Your comment is a succinct critique of the beauty of excess. Thank you, Alfred.
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Still one of my iconic poet stars, and I never tire of his work no matter how often I’ve read it.
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Me too, Renee.
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…and me too!
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Oh, Larry, your uniquely you perspective is missed.
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oh yes. He had a unique voice.
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This is a POEM. I have read more by Larry Levis but only by chance, and always stunned by the amazing language and images. I must get the book(s).
–Rosmarie Epaminondas (Rose Mary Boehm)
http://rosemaryboehm.weebly.com/https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/ https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/* https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCR9fygcz_kL4LGuYcvmC8lQ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCR9fygcz_kL4LGuYcvmC8lQ
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I’m 75 and I wonder where I’ve been that I’ve never heard of Larry Levis. After almost every line I’m saying to myself, “Wow!” I grew up in rural southeastern Arizona and I know of barns, their darkness hiding more than secrets of the grasslands, but to see it through his eyes was utterly remarkable. I wondered just how much did I miss seeing in those early years. Thank you for posting this poem.
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Thanks, Marc. Although I’ve been reading Levis since I was in college, quite a while ago, I’m amazed every time I re-read one of his poems. Welcome to the Levis fan club.
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If I may, buy WINTER STARS — that, in my opinion, is the best book to start being a lifelong fan & student of Larry’s work. I was one of the lucky ones to be a friend of his, I knew him well, heard him read many, many of his poems and still, each time I return to him, I am astounded by his genius, as if I read his work for the first time!
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Thank you. I’ll get it.
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i’ve been reading the “Collected Larry Levis,” most every day, for months. sometimes followed by poems from “Lately” by you—Laure-Anne—and in so doing visit the “two friends.” How fortunate: the timelessness of these things and what they contain, as along the “brink” we walk, (Michael, our host is in on this) carefree with one another, knowing even amid life’s hard terms we all have this.
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A conspiracy of angels. Thanks for this, Sean.
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I hide in awe and trembling, somewhere in the rafters of this poem. A masterpiece of lurking mystery, as he dresses to die, shoot lofty pigeons, or marry. The stale bouttoniere rests now in my psyche: an inspiration for writing, if not marriage.
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I know, I know, right?! I have read and taught this poem at least 40 times, and still — each time — I shake my head in awe & think: how did he DO this?
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He was someone I read years ago, always an inspiration. Time to read him again. How did he meld imagination in such a brilliant way, to what must have had some basis in his physical life? And turn it into magic?
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I never met Larry Levis, but my impression from reading his poems is that he was overwhelmed by what he saw and felt.
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Amazing leaps in this poem.
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