Skip to Main Content
Have library access? Log in through your library
Living in the Resurrection

Living in the Resurrection

T. Crunk
Foreword by James Dickey
Copyright Date: 1995
Published by: Yale University Press
Pages: 70
https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt32bw5x
  • Cite this Item
  • Book Info
    Living in the Resurrection
    Book Description:

    The winning volume in the 1994 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition isLiving in the Resurrectionby T. Crunk. As James Dickey, distinguished poet and judge of the competition, says in the foreword, "Here is that rare phenomenon, a writer of instinctive formal vision. His real reverence for the simple objects of the everyday world, their ability to present cup, tree, and hand both as they seem and as they are with a kind of mystical iconic starkness, is a quality uniquely Mr. Crunk's. That this starkness eventually begins to warp into the surreal and ultimately windows into the Luminous Beyond, is additional sanction for gratitude."

    Reliquaria

    1.Found Hand-Painted on a Tin Flue Cover

    Ribbon of black crape

    draped on a door knob

    like broken strings

    hanging from a loom

    with the words:Weep not.

    What do I need of this world?

    2.S. P. Dinsmoor Describes His Tomb

    I have made myself a coffin with a glass lid.

    By the door of my grave house

    I have set a cement angel and a stone jug.

    When I see the host coming down, the lid will-fly open

    and I will sail out into the air like a locust.

    If I am called above, the angel will help me-on my way.

    If I have to go below, I will grab my jug

    and fill it with water somewhere on the road down.

    Meantime, every day I pray-O Lord

    teach me that I am but earth,

    a hollow vessel of clay,

    only a wisp of thy breath against my emptiness.

    3.

    They have yet to figure out

    the name of the church

    two men diving in Barkley Lake

    around Cain's Mill a few years ago

    found the whole steeple of

    cross and all

    half-buried in the mud shallows.

    eISBN: 978-0-300-14614-1
    Subjects: Language & Literature

Table of Contents

Export Selected Citations Export to NoodleTools Export to RefWorks Export to EasyBib Export a RIS file (For EndNote, ProCite, Reference Manager, Zotero, Mendeley...) Export a Text file (For BibTex)
  1. Front Matter
    (pp. i-vi)
  2. Table of Contents
    (pp. vii-viii)
  3. Foreword
    (pp. ix-xii)
    James Dickey

    “Home is burning in me,” his epigraph from Lucille Clifton, acts as Tony Crunk’s compass; over the years it wavers, but

    like the needle verging to the north

    [it] trembles and trembles into certainty.

    (W. S. Landor)

    The poet’s central concern is the search—quest—for Home, one that takes him from childhood in a small town in Western Kentucky to a sparsely populated—almost wilderness—environment in Montana.

    During these voyagings, almost random ones at times, a religious orientation begins and shapes itself into poems. In his work there is a touching and accurate reliance on primitive spontaneity; Mr....

  4. Acknowledgments
    (pp. xiii-2)
  5. Earthly Garments

  6. Discursions

    • Visiting a Lost Aunt at the Jefferson Davis Hotel, Elkton
      (pp. 19-20)

      All my father said when he hung up the phone was, “Well I guess Wanda has found her way back.” We wait for him now in the small lobby while he looks for somebody to help us. There’s a coat tree, a newspaper rack, a cigarette machine. There’s a big chair in the corner where they shine shoes, but nobody’s shining shoes on Sunday. I have never been inside a hotel before.

      He comes back, leads us up the carpeted stairs and into a hallway—a window open at the end of it, a thin veil of rainwater rolling down...

    • Prison Train
      (pp. 21-21)

      At night, the signs on the buildings move with light: horses running in front of a wagon, a man with a satchel waving his arm, a big Coke sparkling out into a glass. On the way to the depot my brother reads them to me: Coach-and-Four Motel, Winfree’s Home Accident and Life, Enjoy refreshing Coca-Cola.

      We have come to town to see the prison train. It picks up convicts in different cities in this end of the state and carries them to the Pen in Eddyville. This is the last one—my father guesses they’ll just use police cars after...

    • Visiting the Site of One of the First Churches My Grandfather Pastored
      (pp. 22-22)

      My mother said later that, to the shovel operators, we must have looked like some delegation from out of town that couldn’t find the picnic. Or else the funeral. Not so bad my brother and me jumping the fence, and my father, but then my mother, and all of us helping my grandfather over, and finally my grandmother deciding she wanted to see, too.

      Then all of us standing together at the rim of the pit in our Sunday clothes, sun reflecting off my grandmother’s black patent purse, a few trees still hanging on nearby, roots exposed, like tentacles, like...

    • Summer Evening
      (pp. 23-23)

      The streetlight at the corner flickers on. Begins to hum. Starlings settle into the maples up and down the street. Above the fan whirring in a window next door, the sound of plates being set on a table. You are sitting on the concrete block steps, hugging your white knees. I am kneeling at the corner of the house, trying to replace the bricks that have come loose and fallen out from the foundation—the air from underneath the porch breathes out cool and damp. I can barely hear the radio from back in the kitchen. I can barely hear...

    • Visiting My Grandmother at Oak Lawn
      (pp. 24-25)

      In a niche above the main doors is a statue of a saint, his left arm broken off at the elbow, that they’ve never bothered to replace or take down. Before it was a nursing home it was the old TB hospital, and there isn’t an oak tree anymore within three blocks.

      Today my grandmother’s roommate isn’t in, so she is alone. She is sitting in her chair by the window, and she recognizes me as soon as I go in. We talk while I open the curtains for her, straighten the things on her nightstand. I go for a...

    • After Visiting Home for Christmas
      (pp. 26-26)

      A few rows in front of me on the bus, two boys, maybe ten or eleven, are waving at cars that pass us on the Interstate, trying to get people to wave back, falling into their seat to laugh about it. They’re with the group of deaf kids that gets on in Louisville on Sundays, on their way back to the State School in Danville. The sky is thickening with twilight and low clouds, a few flakes.

      Just beyond Midway a car passes, the boys wave, and the car slows down, staying even with the bus. The woman on the...

  7. Lost Music

  8. Redemption

  9. Benediction

  10. Notes
    (pp. 55-55)