A Night In Brooklyn: Poems by D. NurkseA Night In Brooklyn: Poems by D. Nurkse

A Night In Brooklyn: Poems

byD. Nurkse

Paperback | January 5, 2016

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D. Nurkse’s deeply satisfying new collection is a haunted love letter to the far corners of his hometown, Brooklyn, New York, and a meditation on the selves that were left behind in those indelible places.

Here Nurkse brings alive the particular details that shape a life, in this case unique to the world of Brooklyn—a job at the Arnold Grill, “topping off drafts with a paddle” for the truckers who came in; the deaf white alley cat that mysteriously survived the winter on a stoop in Bensonhurst; the narrow bed where young love took place; the wild gardens behind the tenements. His exploration of this almost mythic city past is combined with a sense of the future speeding toward us—the ongoing riddle of time and being in a larger universe.
 . . . And she who was driving said,
We know the coming disaster intimately but the present is unknowable.
Which disaster, I wondered, sexual or geological? But I was shy:
her beauty was like a language she didn’t speak and had never heard.
From “The Present”
D. NURKSE is the author of nine previous books of poetry. His recent prizes include a Literature Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a Guggenheim Fellowship. A former poet laureate of Brooklyn, he has also written widely on human rights.
Title:A Night In Brooklyn: PoemsFormat:PaperbackDimensions:96 pages, 8.36 × 5.88 × 0.31 inPublished:January 5, 2016Publisher:Knopf Doubleday Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0375712216

ISBN - 13:9780375712210


Read from the Book

Waking in Greenpoint in Late AugustWe wanted so much that there be a worldas we lay naked on our gray-striped mattress,staring up at a trowel mark on the eggshell-blue ceilingand waiting, waiting for twilight, darkness, dawn,marriage, the child, the hoarse names of the city—let there be a universe in which these lovers can washat the pearling spigot, and lick each other dry.A Night in BrooklynWe undid a button,turned out the light,and in that narrow bedwe built the great city—water towers, cisterns,hot asphalt roofs, parks,septic tanks, arterial roads,Canarsie, the intricate channels,the seacoast, underwater mountains,bluffs, islands, the next continent,using only the palms of our handsand the tips of our tongues, nextwe made darkness itself, by thenit was time for daybreakand we closed our eyesuntil the sun roseand we had to take it all to piecesfor there could be only one Brooklyn.The BarsAfter work I’d go to the little barsalong the bright green river, Chloe’s Lounge,Cloverleaf, Barleycorn, it was like dyingto sit at five p.m. with a Bud so coldit had no taste, it stung my hand,when I returned home I missed my keysand rang until my wife’s delicate heademerged in her high window and retreatedlike a snail tucked in a luminous shell—I couldn’t find my wallet, or my paycheck,though I drank nothing, only a few sipsthat tasted like night air, a ginger ale,nevertheless a dozen years passed, a century,always I teetered on that high stoolwhile the Schlitz globe revolved so slowly,disclosing Africa, Asia, Antarctica,unfathomable oceans, radiant poles,until I was a child, they would not serve me,they handed me a red hissing balloonbut for spite I let it go, for the joyof watching it climb past Newton Tool & Die,for fear of cherishing it, for the pangof watching it vanish and knowing myselfboth cause and consequence.From the Hardcover edition.