After almost 50 years of writing poetry and nine published collections, John Koethe (ROTC Kills; Ninety-fifth Street) is at ease with himself and the conundrums life hands him. At 70, he admits to being "in the warm September of my years" and "Declaiming, as the golden hour wanes, my long apology/ For all the wasted time I'm pleased to call my life." The long, ruminating, mostly free-verse poems of The Swimmer touch on some of Koethe's favorite themes: music, community, philosophy and "little highs defining days/ In need of definition: the package on the porch/ The email, the unexpected phone call."
Some, like "Tulsa" and "Chappaquiddick," venture into the dark waters of American politics. Others, like "La Durée," consider modern philosophy in which Koethe admits "real time,/ Objective time.../ Is something Bergson didn't understand, and I don't either." His eclectic interest in music finds expression in poems like "Frank Sinatra's Trains," "Von Freeman" and "Covers Band in a Small Bar"--the latter tracking the evolution of his rock tastes: "more Stax, less Motown,/ Then the Velvet Underground and IQ rock--/ God, I was a snob."
There's something for everyone in The Swimmer, but mostly it reflects the mind of a thoughtful, observant man contemplating his future, where "What's left/ is wonder, wonder and waiting, canvassing the possibilities." Koethe is the Leonard Cohen of American poetry--passionate, self-deprecating, unpretentiously aging, resiliently young--who might nod along with Chelsea Hotel #2: "We are ugly but we have the music." --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.