
Description
Here at last is a new edition of a famous early work by Bernadette Mayer, one of the most beloved, radical, and witty American poets
I guess it’s too late to live on the farm
I guess it’s too late to move to a farm
I guess it’s too late to start farming
I guess farming is not in the cards now…
I guess farming is really out …
I don’t want to be a farmer but my mother was right
I should never have tried to rise out of the proletariat
Unless I can convince myself as Satan argues with Eve
That we are among a proletariat of poets of all the classes
Each ill-paid and surviving on nothing
Or on as little as one needs to survive
Steadfast as any farmer and fixed as the stars
Tenants of a vision we rent out endlessly
Reviews
""The richness of life and time as they happen to us in tiny explosions all the time are grasped and held up for us to view in her magnificent work."" — John Ashbery
""Mayer writes the kind of nonsense that makes sense, and sense that is nonsense: I can’t think of a better catering device in these topsy-turvy times."" — Daniel Wenger, The New Yorker
""Bernadette Mayer is one of the most original writers of her generation. All her work is full of brilliant observation, humorous and sometimes astounding conclusions, and amazing juxtapositions inspired by linguistic associations, patterns of movement, chance, mathematics, whim, and imagination."" — The Washington Post
"The poetry of Bernadette Mayer (1945-2022) is as whimsical and difficult as raising children, one of her main subjects... Mayer’s avant-garde, fragmentary language echoes the cacophony of a full house, or is it the other way around?" — The New Yorker