Hard Rain, by Tony Hoagland

Hard Rain by Tony Hoagland

I loved the poems in What Narcissism Means to Me, Tony Hoagland's last collection of poetry. Recently, I bought his latest one, Hard Rain.

What hasn't changed is Hoagland's sharp wit, keen observation, and fearlessness. The poems in Hard Rain are as biting and dark as ever, except that, compared to those in What Narcissism Mean to Me, the language is more, hmm, profane?, and these poems have taken on a more political tone, presumably because they were written after 9/11. While reading, I was in turn laughing, fidgeting and shaking my head. Ultimately, I am deeply envious of a man who has such a way with words. Here is a snippet from the mildest of the bunch, Forty-Year Old Wine -- naturally, I'm not keen on quoting profanity here:

On tv a guy named Franklin Meriwether is opening
a bottle of two-hundred dollar, forty-year old Bordeaux
to see if it's still good.
[...]
"How much did it cost?" asks Ryan,
who just came into the room.
"Three hundred dollars," says Shiela, and Mike says, "Be quiet,"
as if there was something to hear
as the camera zooms in and we all grow silent
to watch the smallest muscles of Franklin's face
flicker with joy or disapproval
at the moment the wine steps onto his tongue
like a pilgrim entering the holy city
where the story ends
and the judgment begins.