Category Archives: Reading

"Hymn to the Comb-Over"

I love Ted Kooser’s intro on this one.

American Life in Poetry: Column 122

By Ted Kooser
U.S. Poet Laureate, 2004-2006

The chances are very good that you are within a thousand yards of a man with a comb-over, and he may even be somewhere in your house. Here’s Maine poet, Wesley McNair, with his commentary on these valorous attempts to disguise hair loss.

Hymn to the Comb-Over
How the thickest of them erupt just
above the ear, cresting in waves so stiff
no wind can move them. Let us praise them
in all of their varieties, some skinny
as the bands of headphones, some rising
from a part that extends halfway around
the head, others four or five strings
stretched so taut the scalp resembles
a musical instrument. Let us praise the sprays
that hold them, and the combs that coax
such abundance to the front of the head
in the mirror, the combers entirely forget
the back. And let us celebrate the combers,
who address the old sorrow of time’s passing
day after day, bringing out of the barrenness
of mid-life this ridiculous and wonderful
harvest, no wishful flag of hope, but, thick,
or thin, the flag itself, unfurled for us all
in subways, offices, and malls across America.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Wesley McNair. Reprinted from “The Ghosts of You and Me,” published by David R. Godine, 2006, by permission of the author. Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

"Stigma"

After being utterly disturbed by “The Missing,” I really needed something that would clear all that nastiness out of my head. And what’s the never-fail prescription for a feel-good tale? Corporate conspirators, malevolent third-world clinical trials and a covert-ops-trained pediatric surgeon, of course!

Imagine that a shady publishing conglomerate got its hands on Tom Clancy and Michael Crichton’s DNA. They shipped it off to a secret lab deep in the Sonoran desert, where scientists spliced it together. Then they injected it into Philip Hawley Jr., who was suddenly compelled to write “Stigma.

“Stigma” is a wildly ridiculous story, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. It was just what I needed. Now I’m going to go take a nap spring the no-longer-napping Poppy from her crib.

"The Missing"

Chris Mooney’s “The Missing” is a well-written page-turner. But I need to stop reading books like this. I’m paranoid enough about the safety of my loved ones; I don’t really need more horrible scenarios to imagine.

So. No more psychopath thrillers for me.