Billy Collins' "horoscopes for the Dead:" Buy This Book!

Please let me note right off the bat, I no longer do book reviews for this site. There was a time in the fabled past when I could count on a frontage amounting at least to a bean-picker's wages. Nowadays, the compensation has shrunk to that of an antebellum plantation field hand.

Yes, I fully understand, payments, at some point, have to be based on ad revenue, and, come on, we all know book reviews do not pull in the patronage that other articles, along the lines of "Eat Like a Pig and lose 50 Pounds Overnight!" might get. On top of that, this article (eventually) is about a book of poems. Poetry? Dude, wake up and snort the java!

So, this is not a review, it is an exhortation: buy this book, just like it says in the title.

Speaking of titles, please note that the above-noted title of the book is not a simple matter of the reviewer being too lazy to hit the "shift" key. The title on the cover is entirely lower-case, despite this website's persistent refusal to so display the last word. On the other hand, Collins uses what we would consider to be normal punctuation in the poems we find inside.

Those of you who read an earlier article I wrote, regarding The Best and Worst Poets in the World, should already be somewhat familiar with Billy Collins, if you were not already acquainted with his work on your own. If none of that applies to you, then, please take note: this is quality stuff I am talking about.

Okay, fine, if you are someone who absolutely hates, loathes and despises poetry in any way, shape or form, then you should not bother with horoscopes for the dead. For that matter, you should ask yourself why you are even bothering to read any more of this piece. If you wish to leave now, you are excused.

For those of you who can keep an open mind about the possible existence, however remote, of excellent poetry, you may want to stick around, at least for a few more sentences and, of course, our sponsors' enticing ads, pop-up or otherwise.

The collection of poems is divided into four folios, each one containing a considerable variety of poems, all of them worth reading. None of the poems are very long, which is typical of Collins' poetry. In fact you could read all four folios in the course of an afternoon; perhaps less than an afternoon if you are a quick reader, but why would you want to? These poems are not meant to be speed-read. Actually no poems worthy of the name should be quickly skimmed, just to get the gist of them, but certainly not these.

It is for that reason that I am specifically recommending that you do not do as your cheapskate reviewer did and borrow the book from the library. As I write this, I have to have horoscopes for the dead back in the clutches of the Montgomery County Public Library System by tomorrow, and that is too bad. A collection like this should be read one poem at a time, one day at a time, then kept around for re-reading, years later.

As with any collection, some items are better than others. In this case, I would put the title poem, "Horoscopes for the Dead," (note the correct internal punctuation) at the top of the list. It is the beginning poem in the second folio and it is one of the best I can remember reading.

The premise of the poem is that the poet is grieving over the loss of someone he cared deeply about as he reads the daily horoscope in the newspaper. Consider these two stanzas, the fourth one:

I can't imagine you ever facing a new problem

with a positive attitude, but you will definitely not

be doing that, or anything like that, on this weekday in March.

And the same goes for the fun

you might have gotten from group activities,

a likelihood attributed to everyone under your sign.

and the eighth one:

So leave it up to me now

to plan carefully for success and the wealth it may bring,

to value the dear ones close to my heart,

and to welcome any intellectual stimulation that comes my way

though that sounds like a lot to get done on a Tuesday.

I am struck by the gentle, humorous mocking of the bland horoscope that Collins so artfully mixes with the angst of his loss.

Although this one poem is the best of the collection, in my opinion, it is by no means atypical. Billy Collins treats the reader to many moments of both sorrow and humor throughout the book. In that latter category, I am particularly amused by his short, subtly self-deprecatory piece titled "Feedback," and his longer, slightly mischievous one titled "At the Home of the Baroness of Pembrokeshire."

You know, even if you are someone who feels the need to have at least one collection of poetry in your library to impress people that you have at least one collection of poetry in your library (and, all kidding aside, I give you far more credit than that), this is the one you want to occupy that space, you know, just in case, by accident, someone should happen to read it.

Source

horoscopes for the dead, Billy Collins