Somewhere in the late 1970s, while browsing through a bookstore in Helena, Montana, I found a collection of his poems titled What Thou Lovest Well Remains American. Inside the book, written by Richard Hugo, a poet teaching at the University of Montana, I found the most remarkable verses.
Hugo gave voice to the working
man. He wrote poems about drinking in local
bars. He wrote poems about towns, rivers,
and places in Montana I knew.
I found myself intrigued. I stood there in the bookstore reading and
reading and reading the book. Then I
turned to a poem titled For Jennifer, 6, on the Teton. I paused for a long time after reading
the first stanza:
“These open
years, the river
sings
'Jennifer Jennifer.'
Riverbeds are
where we run to learn
laws of bounce
and run.
You know moon. You know your
name is silver.”
I read the lines again. And again.
I felt I was reading a kind of music.
I purchased the book. A week later, I found more books of poems by Hugo.
Today, on the bookshelves in my
den, you will find a shelf dedicated to contemporary poetry. After reading Hugo, I wanted to hear more from
other voices.
Simple, gorgeous words.
“You know your name is silver.”
—Mitchell Hegman
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