By Vijay Seshadri
Winner of the 2014 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry
Vijay Seshadri’s new poetry is guaranteed and specialist, his line as canny as ever. In an array of poetic kinds from the rhyming lyric to the philosophical meditation to the prose essay, 3 Sections confronts difficult divisions of latest life—a wayward historical past, an indeterminate destiny, and a gift situation of desirous to outthink time. this can be a rare ebook, witty and vivacious, by means of considered one of America’s most sensible poets.
The long-awaited 3rd poetry e-book by way of Vijay Seshadri, “one of the main revered poets operating in the US today” - Time Out New York
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Extra info for 3 Sections: Poems
O, Doamne, cât aş vrea să ştiu, eu, într-o zi, cât am să scriu? Mircea Ionescu-Quintus At Jilava I read on a wall, scrawled in blood: “locked here for eight years,” and saw you, brave and silent, humble scribe unknown. Below, on the same wall, engraved: “five years and six months I stayed,” and as I stared at gates and walls there were but years, and months, and lives. I read on a wall, scrawled in blood, I was locked up, I was locked up . . Oh God, how I want to know what tally, one day, will I scrawl?
They were intended to record and to witness the gruesome acts of repression and totalitarian rule that Eastern European peoples, Romanians included, endured beneath the oppressive and profoundly inhuman political regime forcibly installed by the “liberating” Red Army. For a long time I thought I would be unable to survive the hellish conditions in the labor camps at the Danube–Black Sea Canal, and therefore I began to record, by memory and on scraps of paper found in the trash, the facts that needed to be made known to my wife and son, and to all those on the outside.
The frogs and crickets have started to chatter, at lake edge the rushes rustle; nothing endures from the day’s bustle but the black bird cawing his broken vespers From “Rex” over there float jazzy strains like notes suspended on a wire stave, like the renewed memory of an old pain, like the first thrill of a late love. Tracers and stars play in the night vagabond rest takes a chilly seat the whispered stories lie awake the stones, asleep with their snouts in the lake. 1 Lake in southeastern Romania.
3 Sections: Poems by Vijay Seshadri