I've had a great time the past month reading The Collected Poems of John Updike. I have many "favorite" writers, but if I had to choose a writer who has, through the years, astounded me with the depth of breadth of his work, I would choose Updike. I have read no less than twenty of his books, including his four Rabbit Angstrom novels which have garnered him two Pulitzer's and a National Book Award.
And he's not a bad poet either . . . especially a poet of light verse. Updike's verse is more than funny. It is lilting and, at times, provocative in insight and opinion. I miss Updike already. And he hasn't been dead a year.
Still, I've been carrying this book with me for the past month (car, briefcase, armpit) and have taken it with me to restaurants, into the backyard, and to football practices and games. The cover is now showing signs of wear . . . BBQ stains, a half-moon-shaped coffee mug ring, and my own disgustingly filthy fingerprints.
But I love a book this way. It's making me work.
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