Back to Issue Fifty-Six

Topeka, Kansas

BY JOSHUA BENNETT

 

Appropriate Times for Tasks (259-310)

             for Gwendolyn Brooks

The Moon herself has set certain days as auspicious
such as the ones where Gwendolyn’s father,
David, builds a mahogany bookshelf
for his beloved. The day he brings it to her
as a wedding present. And the dark mornings
he pores over tomes his daughter would place in that sacred 
frame: Harvard Classics, mostly, Homer & Aeschylus, 
Plato, Seneca. Ancient names embossed in gold, 
shimmering against worn hardback covers,
each as green as the grass on a grave.

The groves in her eyes, they are growing 
now, beyond the bounds of the apartment, 
outward and up into space. Out of the bloom
a friend of a friend, Chrysanthemum, says,
omitting blueness, altering the phrase’s circuitry, 
for reasons I can understand even at a distance. 
As a teenager, Brooks translates the Aeneid
whole passages from the original Latin, 
eventually crafting her own parodic verse, 
timeless in its effervescent rage:

Forgive me this small speech, wherein I rave 

That thou didst ever live to harass me. 

Oh, not that I do not appreciate

The mild, concordant beauty of your lines— 

But I am puzzled by them; I translate, 

And every word seems but a set of signs.

 

Out of the blue, we say sometimes 
because we imagine the truth 
careening through the atmosphere 
like a winged beast, to interrupt

our boredom, or our fear. Or is it 
because we were borne from the sea, 
and call back to that origin even 
still, the Unconscious orchestrating
our idioms as we sleep, pointing home.
She titles the poem
“To Publius Vergilius Maro,” 
direct as the arrow
in an assassin’s dream: a missive 
to the long-buried bard
who speaks with her now, only

through language we call dead as a matter 
of specificity, though she summons
his audible sense of things in the act
of composition. Unearthing a voice that is both 
hers & altogether new, fugitive,
like the name of the Almighty.
In those days, Gwendolyn turns toward endlessness 
to call in a manner not of speaking
per se, but of perceiving the distance 
between the words one etches onto the air

& the whirlwind, compelling that stillness within us to move.

Dr. Joshua Bennett is Distinguished Chair of the Humanities and Professor of Literature at MIT. He is the author of seven books, including Spoken Word: A Cultural History (Knopf, 2023), which was named a New York Times Notable Book of 2023, and The Sobbing School (Penguin, 2016), winner of the National Poetry Series.

For his creative writing and scholarship, Joshua has received fellowships and awards from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Whiting Foundation, the Institute for Advanced Study, and the Society of Fellows at Harvard University. Alongside his work as an author and educator, Bennett is also the founder and principal of Solon: a design studio specializing in the art of adaptation. He lives in Massachusetts with his family.

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