Samuel Menashe New and Selected Poems Edited by Christopher Ricks Library of America, 200 pp., $20
IN 2004, under the auspices of its foundation, the most venerated magazine of verse in America, Poetry, gave its first Neglected Masters Award to Samuel Menashe.
Though the $50,000 check is impressive in the poetry world, this new prize comes with a much greater laurel: publication in the canonical Library of America series. The first living poet to be so honored (as Philip Roth has been for fiction), Menashe finds himself, if not like Lord Byron "suddenly famous one morning," at least in the space of a year rather well known.
Unlike most of his contemporaries, Menashe deserves the attention. Born in 1925, the poet might be dismissed by some as an eccentric Jewish bohemian--never married, rarely employed by universities, he has lived in the same Greenwich Village apartment for close to 50 years--but his valor at the Battle of the Bulge and his doctorate from the Sorbonne should dispel such prejudices. While his own country was slow to accept him, Menashe found a warmer embrace across the Atlantic. Robert Graves, Donald Davie, Kathleen Raine, and Stephen Spender were early admirers; likewise, Christopher Ricks has written the introduction to Samuel Menashe: New and Selected Poems.
What did the British see that we didn't? In a word: everything. In his formal terseness, in his deep and unironic faith, Menashe is so thoroughly American that he could never be mistaken for an Anglophile. He was welcomed over there as a foreign cousin speaking the same tongue. Meanwhile, over here, he was overlooked because his work appeared to spring from no fashionable literary tradition:
From "At Millay's Grave":
Your ashes In an urn Buried here Make me burn For dear life My candle At one end-- Night outlasts Wick and wax Foe and friend
This is reminiscent of John Skelton--the great rhymer and court orator to Henry VIII--much more than any contemporary author. It also manages to eulogize Edna St. Vincent Millay, allude to her classic "First Fig," and provide Menashe's philosophical riposte to that other poem--all in 26 words. As art, it represents the purest economy of expression. The verse of such a minimalist (the longest poem in this book is 33 lines, while most are merely eight) was never certain to have a wide following, but there is much to learn from Menashe. As Ricks has noted, here is a poet who finds "not just le mot juste but la lettre juste."
Now in his 80th year, Menashe spends his days composing such gems as "Salt and Pepper" while strolling through Central Park:
Here and there
White hairs appear
On my chest--
Age seasons me
Gives me zest--
I am a sage
In the making
Sprinkled, shaking
Good humor, modesty, and charm in abundance--these traits of the author are immediately evident in the verse. Those who have heard Menashe recite his work know something else as well: He is his own ideal reader. With a voice as rich and deep as a cello, the poet sounds each line--with expert pauses and sustained vowels--in a cadence that holds the attention of his audience. Those who have only read Menashe's poems should envy the pigeons in Central Park, who daily benefit from overhearing his improvised compositions.
John Simon once mauled the late Robert Creeley's poems by deadpanning: "They are short; they are not short enough." Will Menashe be remembered with similar irreverence? The quality of his work should prevent such disparagement. Will he ever be popular? Perhaps, in an abbreviated age such as ours, with its short attention spans and cell phone messages, Menashe's brevity fits the temper of the times better than we know. Certainly, we desperately need the virtues of his verse at the moment; his grace in confronting old age, and his religious affirmation should do us some good as well. Samuel Menashe deserves his moment of praise. Here is his "Hallelujah":
Eyes open to praise The play of light Upon the ceiling-- While still abed raise The roof this morning Rejoice as you please Your Maker who made This day while you slept, Who gives grace and ease, Whose promise is kept.
Garrick Davis is the founding editor of the Contemporary Poetry Review (www.cprw.com).