Leave your feedback Share Copy URL https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/poetry/wyatt-prunty Email Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Tumblr Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Wyatt Prunty Poetry Mar 21, 2006 5:51 PM EDT Wyatt Prunty is director of the Sewanee Writers’ Conference. His books include The Times Between (1982), What Women Know, What Men Believe (1986), Balance as Belief, (1989), The Run of the House (1993), and Since the Noon Mail Stopped (1997), all published by Johns Hopkins University Press. His most recent collection of poems, Unarmed and Dangerous: New and Selected Poems, appeared in 2000. Oxford University Press published his critical work on contemporary poetry, “Fallen from the Symboled World”:Precedents for the New Formalism (1990). He is general editor of the Sewanee Writers’ Series, published by Sewanee in conjunction with the Overlook Press. He recently received a residency from The Rockefeller Foundation’s Bellagio Center and a fellowship from The John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation. Transcript: Wyatt Prunty The Returning Dead by Wyatt Prunty Each night I make a drink and wait for them They have become the day’s concluding news, Installments from a world without anthems Or children, unfocusing eyes A question that repeatedly rejects My easy terms. They are ones who believed And acted in the narrow and select Ways handed them, while ordinary lives Ran on without interruption Or bad pictures, as though nothing had changed Change is the one unanswerable question Of these faces. The world can rearrange Itself repeatedly, but these remain The same, silent in everything they lack; That’s what they’ve come to, in places with names Like Afghanistan, Iraq, And this is the way it happens: the words Are old – mother, father, home – and will catch Surrounding currents in the slow absurd Descending will of any river etched Out of a landscape history refines To myth. The TV blanks between Segments, but every static face defines Itself, holds stubbornly its private scene… Fixed, publicly, as we are led Back to that little negative whose lack Is each of us, staring the staring dead, Leaning, sometimes like grief itself; then straightening back. We're not going anywhere. Stand up for truly independent, trusted news that you can count on! Donate now
Wyatt Prunty is director of the Sewanee Writers’ Conference. His books include The Times Between (1982), What Women Know, What Men Believe (1986), Balance as Belief, (1989), The Run of the House (1993), and Since the Noon Mail Stopped (1997), all published by Johns Hopkins University Press. His most recent collection of poems, Unarmed and Dangerous: New and Selected Poems, appeared in 2000. Oxford University Press published his critical work on contemporary poetry, “Fallen from the Symboled World”:Precedents for the New Formalism (1990). He is general editor of the Sewanee Writers’ Series, published by Sewanee in conjunction with the Overlook Press. He recently received a residency from The Rockefeller Foundation’s Bellagio Center and a fellowship from The John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation. Transcript: Wyatt Prunty The Returning Dead by Wyatt Prunty Each night I make a drink and wait for them They have become the day’s concluding news, Installments from a world without anthems Or children, unfocusing eyes A question that repeatedly rejects My easy terms. They are ones who believed And acted in the narrow and select Ways handed them, while ordinary lives Ran on without interruption Or bad pictures, as though nothing had changed Change is the one unanswerable question Of these faces. The world can rearrange Itself repeatedly, but these remain The same, silent in everything they lack; That’s what they’ve come to, in places with names Like Afghanistan, Iraq, And this is the way it happens: the words Are old – mother, father, home – and will catch Surrounding currents in the slow absurd Descending will of any river etched Out of a landscape history refines To myth. The TV blanks between Segments, but every static face defines Itself, holds stubbornly its private scene… Fixed, publicly, as we are led Back to that little negative whose lack Is each of us, staring the staring dead, Leaning, sometimes like grief itself; then straightening back. We're not going anywhere. Stand up for truly independent, trusted news that you can count on! Donate now