i read an early collection of his work, "Country Music," a year or two ago and enjoyed it, but did struggle a bit. i've eyed his career-spanning tome "Oblivion Banjo" (what a name!) for a while, and saw it again in a bookstore last week. I opened it to a random page and it kinda grabbed my soul by the lapels.
it's fascinating to read a poet obsessed with the limitations of language. he knows its shortcomings - which, really, are humanity's shortcomings, consciousness's shortcomings - and he embraces them. what bubbles up is a gorgeous spiritual longing, one that's satisfied with being a longing and never attempts to be an understanding. he knows that mysteries are not meant to be solved. that we'll never know god - not in this life - but we sure do feel god, all the time, everywhere.
"oblivion banjo" is about 700 pages of wright describing his backyard, the birds, the grass. and, in doing so, he captures the human instincts and yearning that we all have, but none of us can name. you know when people say "i'm sore in parts of my body i didn't even know i had?" it's kind of like that but for your soul.
