by Kenton K. Yee
 |
| Dean Young, 1955-2022 |
In The Art of Recklessness (Graywolf, 2010), the poet Dean Young's exhilarating book-length essay on writing poetry, he repeatedly questions and rejects the idea that the most important thing in writing poetry is an acquired mastery of craft, suggesting that it comes at the expense of intuition, risk-taking, wildness, and negative capability. He writes, exasperatedly and in all caps, "WE ARE MAKING BIRDS, NOT BIRDCAGES!" —Michael Dumanis, Editor of Bennington Review
I ping. I ping love.
I ping love and I love pings.
Here’s one from the library:
Due in two.
Love me my deadlines.
Ping me butter melting,
cantaloupe ripening,
gasps quickening.
Dean Young.
Ducks.
Abduct.
I’m waiting for the gulls to return my goldfish.
I’m waiting for squirrels to sing like nightingales,
daisies to bear me raspberries,
and bonsai trunks or cornflakes.
I’m waiting for bugles to herald the dying of salmon.
All this sun and all that sun.
The melting hours. Starlight. Dew.
The lackadaisical one
who settles for steam turned to rice.
Author’s Note: This poem is in memory of Dean Young, who passed away a few days ago. When I first took up poetry, I didn't know what to make of Dean Young and his rich language and ranging movements. Now, he's become one of my poetry role models.
Kenton K. Yee recently placed poetry in Constellations, Plume Poetry, The Threepenny Review, The Indianapolis Review, Matter, Lily Poetry Review, and Pembroke Magazine, among others. An Iowa Summer Poetry Workshop alumnus, he writes from northern California.
