American Life in Poetry: Column 161

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

I may be a little sappy, but I think that almost everyone is
doing the best he or she can, despite all sorts of obstacles.
This poem by Jonathan Holden introduces us to a young car
salesman, who is trying hard, perhaps too hard. Holden is the
past poet laureate of Kansas and poet in residence at Kansas
State University in Manhattan.

Car Showroom

Day after day, along with his placid
automobiles, that well-groomed
sallow young man had been waiting for
me, as in the cheerful, unchanging
weather of a billboard--pacing
the tiles, patting his tie, knotting, un-
knotting the facade of his smile
while staring out the window.
He was so bad at the job
he reminded me of myself
the summer I failed
at selling Time and Life in New Jersey.
Even though I was a boy
I could feel someone else's voice
crawl out of my mouth,
spoiling every word,
like this cowed, polite kid in his tie
and badge that said Greg,
saying Ma'am to my wife, calling
me Sir, retailing the air with such piety
I had to find anything out the window.
Maybe the rain. It was gray
and as honestly wet as ever. Something
we could both believe.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry
Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry
magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English
at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 1985
by Jonathan Holden, whose most recent book of poetry is
"Knowing: New & Selected Poems," University of Arkansas Press,
2000. Reprinted from "The Names of the Rapids," The University
of Massachusetts Press, 1985, by permission of the author.
First printed in "Black Warrior Review." Introduction copyright (c)
2008 by The Poetry Foundation.  The introduction's author, Ted Kooser,
served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the
Library of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept
unsolicited manuscripts. 
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American Life in Poetry: Column 160

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

I've mentioned how important close observation is in composing a vivid poem.

In this scene by Arizona poet, Steve Orlen, the details not only help us to

see the girls clearly, but the last detail is loaded with suggestion. The poem

closes with the car door shutting, and we readers are shut out of what will

happen, though we can guess.

Three Teenage Girls: 1956

Three teenage girls in tight red sleeveless blouses and black Capri pants
And colorful headscarves secured in a knot to their chins
Are walking down the hill, chatting, laughing,
Cupping their cigarettes against the light rain,
The closest to the road with her left thumb stuck out
Not looking at the cars going past.

Every Friday night to the dance, and wet or dry
They get where they're going, walk two miles or get a ride,
And now the two-door 1950 Dodge, dark green
Darkening as evening falls, stops, they nudge
Each other, peer in, shrug, two scramble into the back seat,
And the third, the boldest, famous
For twice running away from home, slides in front with the man
Who reaches across her body and pulls the door shut.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation
www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also
supported by the Department of English at the University of 
Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Steve Orlen.
Reprinted from "The Elephant's Child: New & Selected Poems 1
978-2005" by Steve Orlen, Ausable Press, 2006, by permission
of the author and publisher. Introduction copyright (c) 2008 by The
Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served
as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library
of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
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American Life in Poetry: Column 158

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Putting bed pillows onto the grass to freshen,
it's a pretty humble subject for a poem, but look  
how Kentucky poet, Frank Steele, deftly uses a  
sun-warmed pillow to bring back the comfort  
and security of childhood.

Part of a Legacy

I take pillows outdoors to sun them
as my mother did. "Keeps bedding fresh,"
she said. It was April then, too--
buttercups fluffing their frail sails,
one striped bee humming grudges, a crinkle
of jonquils. Weeds reclaimed bare ground.
All of these leaked somehow
into the pillows, looking odd where they
simmered all day, the size of hams, out of place
on grass. And at night I could feel
some part of my mother still with me
in the warmth of my face as I dreamed
baseball and honeysuckle, sleeping
on sunlight.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by  
The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org),  
publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by
the Department of English at the University of  
Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2000 by Frank  
Steele, whose most recent book of poetry is
"Singing into That Fresh Light," co-authored with  Peggy Steele,
ed. Robert Bly, Blue Sofa Press, 2001.  
Reprinted from "Blue Sofa Review," Vol. II, no. 1, 
Spring 2000, by permission of Frank Steele.  
Introduction copyright (c) 2008 by The Poetry Foundation.   
The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United
States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library
of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept  
unsolicited manuscripts.   
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