Back in 1996 or so, BYU Studies published a collection of poetry, Second Crop, by John Sterling Harris. As was their wont back then, they published way more copies of the book than they had any reasonable hope of selling, and over the years, the price has dropped and dropped, to the point that they were finally offering the book free if you bought another book. Saturday, I attended the annual meeting of the BYU Studies Academy, where we were given free copies of Second Crop, and asked to give them a home. I regret to say that there were times in the Academy meeting when my attention wandered a bit, and I picked up Second Crop and read a few poems.

I'm now totally hooked. What muscular, sinewy verse! What taut control of imagery and voice! He's a Western poet, in that many of his best poems deal with an outdoor life in the Western US, but I don't want to categorize him as a "cowboy poet" or a "rancher poet," because such terms strike me as possibly dismissive or limiting. But these are the poems of a man who has branded cattle, tended to a horse's barbed wire wounds, fired a Colt's revolver and brought in a crop of alfalfa. Harris knows the difference between a tie roper and a dally roper, and remembers, about roping, "the unpredictables--the outsize calf, the loose cinch, the half-broke horse," and recalls one old-timer: "McClovio, still a stubborn dally roper, with his three-fingered hand." He knows the difference between a Lombardy poplar and a cottonwood, and can create a texture and mood and time and place by exploring those differences. He concludes one poem: "But horses and men were made to go together-- that's why a horse's withers fit a man's crotch."

My favorite poem in the collection: well, I have dozens of favorites, and perhaps this one comes to mind because of a recent infuriating Gospel Doctrine lesson in my ward. But anyway, in "Flood" he describes the infernal dryness of the western desert--"gray leaves, sagebrush and shad scale," and tries to imagine it covered with water (as, of course, the Great Basin once was covered).

"Water to lap the scrub oak On the rocky hogsback and ripple Against the groves of aspen Until it reached and overspread The pines themselves-- Black and pointed tops Below cold waves-- Until the peaks vanished too.

No, old Noah must have launched His ark of gopher wood Upon a shimmering mirage. There couldn't be that much water In the whole dry and dusty world, No matter how much sin."

Harris also writes with wit and charm and humor. One poem, "Bless our Tacky Chapel" invokes

"Lennox air conditioners For cooling down parishioners Best Crane plumbing in the johns, Astroturf in all the lawns"

And concludes

"We'd leave the church at parting knell-- But the aluminum steeple has no bell."

Another poem, "To a Celibate friend marrying late" ponders the mystery of love:

"It cannot be the randy, rutting urge That betrayed the others still Wet behind the ears And in their playmate dreams. But this loving rationally, With premeditation After lengthy waiting, Like Jacob laboring his Seven years to earn his bride--."

And at this point, Harris realizes the mystery of love isn't really solvable, and wryly concludes:

"Well, consummatum est, and a jab In the ribs, and hope For love that all men wish And some men know."

Harris mostly writes free verse, but he's adept with rhyme and meter, and his three triolets are superb. Here's one, "Irrationality":

"We totter on the brink of sanity, But steadied by irrational acts, Those glitches that save humanity. We totter on the brink of sanity. Wisdom and reason are vanity And blatant denial of facts. We totter on the brink of sanity, But steadied by irrational acts."

I know lots of people on this List love poetry, and mourn the fact that it doesn't seem to sell all that well. I have argued that today's generation is poetry-immersed; they just don't call it poetry, they call it hip-hop. I still feel that way. But reading a great collection of poetry is an exhilarating experience: I'm not sure I know many other literary experiences that can match it. I felt the same way when I read my first Lance Larsen poem--and I hope to review Lance's new book on the List fairly soon.

Anyway, get Second Crop while supplies last. You won't find it very expensive: it's offered on the BYU Studies website for &1.98. But it's a wonderful read. "Oh wise men may ye ever bring your gifts to lay before your king."

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Eric Samuelsen
March 6, 2006