November 26th, 2008
Q & A • Philip Gourevitch The Paris Review | On writers, ghosts and Abu Ghraib.0 comments
November 19th, 2008
Is It Just Me Or Is Everything Shit? | Steve Lowe and Alan Mcarthur with Brendan Hay0 comments
November 12th, 2008
WEB Exclusive • Dangerous Women at In Other Words Saturday, Nov. 15. | Female stereotypes confirmed! Gypsy music to soundtrack.2 comments
October 15th, 2008
David Mura: Famous Suicides of the Japanese Empire | Love and loss in Chicago—and ancient Japan.0 comments
October 8th, 2008
Sarah Vowell. The Wordy Shipmates. | Of buckles and corn and hacked-off body parts.0 comments
September 24th, 2008
McCain’s Promise. David Foster Wallace | Saying farewell to ideals.1 comment
September 24th, 2008
Stephen Baker. The Numerati | Smile, you’re on PC.0 comments
September 17th, 2008
Chuck Klosterman. Downtown Owl | Gonna die in this small town/ And that’s probably where they’ll bury me. 0 comments
September 17th, 2008
Paul Auster. Man in the Dark | Paul Auster builds an elaborate fantasy to reflect on real-life loss.0 comments
September 3rd, 2008
Nena Baker. The Body Toxic | A thin new book builds a thin, old case against the chemical industry.2 comments
![]() Li-Young Lee IMAGE: donna lee |
[February 20th, 2008]
It is my impression, based more on gut feeling than evidence, that the majority of contemporary poets are more concerned with the way their poems sound read aloud than the way they look on the page. There are plenty of exceptions (Portland’s own David Biespiel, for one), but, in the age-old debate over whether poetry is, in essence, a literary art or performative one, the performers seem to have the upper hand.
Chicago poet Li-Young Lee, whose first new collection in seven years, Behind My Eyes (Norton, 106 pages, $24.95), came out in January, falls squarely into the latter camp. His poems, composed of simple, unembellished lines, look like nothing special on the page. He rarely dabbles in form, and never indulges in irregular punctuation.
But to hear him read is a revelation. Lee steps carefully through his lines, weighing each phrase before letting it leave his lips, slowly building momentum but never rushing or droning on and letting himself get bored the way Robert Pinsky does. His baritone voice is soothing, but not soporific. His pronunciation is consciously precise (Lee, born to Chinese parents in Indonesia, learned English in elementary school), but never sharp-edged.
Lee’s publisher has realized that his reading has a special something, and Behind My Eyes comes with a CD of the author reading 22 of the poems printed in the book. It’s a genius idea, and one other publishers would do well to imitate. Keeping Lee’s cadence and tone in mind makes for a much more pleasurable reading experience, in the same way that Yeats is infinitely better once you’ve heard him read “Lake Isle of Innisfree.”
The predominant theme of Behind My Eyes is a sense of isolation—that of the immigrant as well as the more benign sort that can grow within close relationships. Along with a series of poems about coming to America as a refugee, Lee conjures up a child stuck in an apple tree, an empty house, an unmade bed. In “Virtues of the Boring Husband,” he writes, “Whenever I talk, my wife falls asleep.” But to hear Lee read is anything but isolating. He’s right there, and he wants you to understand.
Immigrant Blues
Download audio file (07___Immigrant_Blues.mp3)
Have You Prayed?
RECENT COMMENTS ON “Li-Young Lee Behind My Eyes”
I saw Li-Young Lee last night at the Newmark and am really glad I did. He spoke of the "dying breath" in reading poetry out loud, and his explanantion has stayed with me ever since.










