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Invisible Strings
New poetry by Jim Moore, who “elevates economy of phrase to an art� (Minneapolis Star Tribune)
No, I don’t know
the way to get there.
Two empty suitcases sit in the corner,
if that’s any kind of clue.
—from “Almost Sixty�
Brief, jagged, haiku-like, Jim Moore’s poems in Invisible Strings observe time moving past us moment by moment. In that accrual, line by line, is the anxiety and acceptance of aging, the mounting losses of friends to death or divorce, the accounting of frequent flyer miles and cups of coffee, and the poet’s own process of writing. It is a world of both diminishment and triumphs. Moore has assembled his most emotionally direct and lyrically spare collection, one that amounts to his book of days, seasons, and stark realizations.
No, I don’t know
the way to get there.
Two empty suitcases sit in the corner,
if that’s any kind of clue.
—from “Almost Sixty�
Brief, jagged, haiku-like, Jim Moore’s poems in Invisible Strings observe time moving past us moment by moment. In that accrual, line by line, is the anxiety and acceptance of aging, the mounting losses of friends to death or divorce, the accounting of frequent flyer miles and cups of coffee, and the poet’s own process of writing. It is a world of both diminishment and triumphs. Moore has assembled his most emotionally direct and lyrically spare collection, one that amounts to his book of days, seasons, and stark realizations.
- GenresPoetry
96 pages, Paperback
First published March 29, 2011
1 person is currently reading
96 people want to read
About the author
Jim Moore
144books30followersLibrarian note: There is more than one author with this name.
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
May 7, 2011
I have loved wholeheartedly these short poems of Jim Moore's since I first stumbled into a few in a magazine. They are chips of reality, obsidian flakes of the heart and mind. In form they remind me strongly of Mary Barnard's translations of Sappho (the way a set-apart first line functions as title and opening both). Their fragmentary quality, and their deep affirmation of reality as it is, does as well. As with Sappho, the world view here is complex, nuanced, and deep. Jim has told me he didn't have Barnard's Sappho (every translation is partly the translator's, but particularly this one) in mind, writing them--well, never mind... reading them, I do. And that's no small companion to stand beside and hold your own head up. These poems are also, I should add, thoroughly of our own time, with their references to Abu Ghraib, freeways, and cell phones, and thoroughly the work of an American man of a certain age, looking at his own life, at the lives of others, with fully open eyes and mind and heart.
March 15, 2012
When I opened up Invisible Strings, I was delighted to find imagistic poems, a la Williams, Pound, and H.D. Imagism was born as a literary response to the photograph, and Moore uses the poem as a camera to create a deep, meaningful sequence of pictures in this poignant book.
Moore shows, doesn’t tell. He serves up the poem to the reader and leaves it for contemplation, no reiteration of the main point, no pounding the idea through a final telling statement. His is the voice of a mature poet, one who truly trusts the image. He is not afraid of brevity, nor is he following contemporary literary fashion for fashion’s sake: though he sometimes staggers disparate images in numbered sequences, the power of the poem mounting as the tension between the images builds, as in his poem “Love in the Ruins,� he does not intentionally create fragmentation for its own sake.
Moore’s work is fresh in its honesty and lack of pretention. The sensitivity of the poet lurks behind every poem, every artistically described moment. This book could only have been written by someone with a keen mind, an open heart, a moral sense, and photographic eyes that can see the invisible strings that connect us all.
Moore shows, doesn’t tell. He serves up the poem to the reader and leaves it for contemplation, no reiteration of the main point, no pounding the idea through a final telling statement. His is the voice of a mature poet, one who truly trusts the image. He is not afraid of brevity, nor is he following contemporary literary fashion for fashion’s sake: though he sometimes staggers disparate images in numbered sequences, the power of the poem mounting as the tension between the images builds, as in his poem “Love in the Ruins,� he does not intentionally create fragmentation for its own sake.
Moore’s work is fresh in its honesty and lack of pretention. The sensitivity of the poet lurks behind every poem, every artistically described moment. This book could only have been written by someone with a keen mind, an open heart, a moral sense, and photographic eyes that can see the invisible strings that connect us all.
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October 19, 2023I will sometimes pick up a book of poetry at random from my local library just to see how it is. That's how I stumbled on this collection. Jim Moore is a local Minnesota poet. Lots of good melancholic poems about Saint Paul and Minnesota and the winter. Really enjoyed it.
June 15, 2011
Moore's style is deceptively simple. The poems fly by and that is a mistake. Closer readings reveal a poet grappling with mortality, aging and grief in great depth and in a genuine way. His language is unadorned, but it is usually precise. Moore does what he can to slow the reader down with line breaks, and punctuation, especially colons, but it's hard not to dive head first into his sparse verse.
There were a few poems, some of the shorter ones, that didn't quite work. They come off as image fragment and sometimes Moore attaches an explanatory line that seems obvious.
My favorite poems: Love in the Ruins, Birthday, Friday, (Blood in Our Headlights, Car Wrecked, the Boar Dead), Four Stages of Love, Of All Places, Disappearing in America, True Enough, Pigeons in a Black Sky.
My favorite lines: That all calm is a false calm/ I keep learning again and again.
Maybe/ this is actually paradise,/ you said, and on we went/ from there.
And then/ the moment becomes a story,/ cut open as completely as the boar had been,/ all of us making use of it/ in whatever ways we need/ until our lives and the names/ we were given never to let go of/ go.
There were a few poems, some of the shorter ones, that didn't quite work. They come off as image fragment and sometimes Moore attaches an explanatory line that seems obvious.
My favorite poems: Love in the Ruins, Birthday, Friday, (Blood in Our Headlights, Car Wrecked, the Boar Dead), Four Stages of Love, Of All Places, Disappearing in America, True Enough, Pigeons in a Black Sky.
My favorite lines: That all calm is a false calm/ I keep learning again and again.
Maybe/ this is actually paradise,/ you said, and on we went/ from there.
And then/ the moment becomes a story,/ cut open as completely as the boar had been,/ all of us making use of it/ in whatever ways we need/ until our lives and the names/ we were given never to let go of/ go.
March 20, 2012
Written for review in Reach's "Bound to Please" column:
"Jim Moore has keen eyes, to draw the span of the world into himself and construct such dazzling moments. These fragmented poems continue the tradition of: Saphho, Basho, William Carlos Williams, H.D. I imagine the writing process: slender poems on paper napkins, transcribed. Each a breath. A packet of Polaroids. A slip of humor. As in the opening poem, “Love in the Ruins,� which gives us glimpses—an observation of a departed mother’s movements, a dawn neighborhood exchange in knowing silence, a war-wound gratitude, a clever comment on the writing process, a springtime cleanup. If one knows Moore, one can imagine that twinkling smile that would punctuate the quintet, and this is how one could read this delicate and clever collection: a wry grin and a sort of kindness that comes from old friends. The only disappointment is that the reading is over too soon."
"Jim Moore has keen eyes, to draw the span of the world into himself and construct such dazzling moments. These fragmented poems continue the tradition of: Saphho, Basho, William Carlos Williams, H.D. I imagine the writing process: slender poems on paper napkins, transcribed. Each a breath. A packet of Polaroids. A slip of humor. As in the opening poem, “Love in the Ruins,� which gives us glimpses—an observation of a departed mother’s movements, a dawn neighborhood exchange in knowing silence, a war-wound gratitude, a clever comment on the writing process, a springtime cleanup. If one knows Moore, one can imagine that twinkling smile that would punctuate the quintet, and this is how one could read this delicate and clever collection: a wry grin and a sort of kindness that comes from old friends. The only disappointment is that the reading is over too soon."
February 10, 2016
"TRUE ENOUGH,
I have forgotten many things.
But I do remember
the bank of clover along the freeway
we were passing thirty years ago
when someone I loved made clear to me
it was over."
Very poignant poems about loving, getting old, dying. It is a collection of poems that celebrate humanity, and make us realize that the world is made up of invisible strings connecting our inner lives to the larger world that surrounds and overwhelms us. The words of Jim Moore beg to be read out loud, or whispered in the wee hours of the morning while sipping a hot cuppa. They deserve to be read and reread over and over again.
I have forgotten many things.
But I do remember
the bank of clover along the freeway
we were passing thirty years ago
when someone I loved made clear to me
it was over."
Very poignant poems about loving, getting old, dying. It is a collection of poems that celebrate humanity, and make us realize that the world is made up of invisible strings connecting our inner lives to the larger world that surrounds and overwhelms us. The words of Jim Moore beg to be read out loud, or whispered in the wee hours of the morning while sipping a hot cuppa. They deserve to be read and reread over and over again.
September 15, 2016
Some favorite lines / poems from this collection:
Moore's opening quote from Saigyo:
Nowhere is there place
to stop and live, so only
everywhere will do . . .
From Love In The Ruins . . .
I remember my mother toward the end,
folding the tablecloth after dinner
so carefully,
as if it were the flag
of a country that no longer existed,
but once had ruled the world. (p. 3)
From The Four Stages of Love . . .
4
I want to believe it
when the pine tree out my window
tells me I don't have to be afraid
for my own death, not even,
Love, for yours. (p. 40)
From Thanksgiving . . .
2
On Thanksgiving, the phone
suddenly stops working. For this, too,
Lord, we give thanks.
3
Giant pines in November sunlight:
sitting inside their shadows
what is death to me?
4
Everyone is always younger than me
and more beautiful. Actually,
this arrangement works. (p. 56)
And finally, from There Goes That Little Mutt From Down The Street . . .
and the man, his owner,
walking together in the cold
December darkness:
love takes you
where you need to go,
no exceptions. (p. 67)
(Jim Moore, Invisible Strings: Poems, Minneapolis, Minnesota: Graywolf Press, 2011)
Moore's opening quote from Saigyo:
Nowhere is there place
to stop and live, so only
everywhere will do . . .
From Love In The Ruins . . .
I remember my mother toward the end,
folding the tablecloth after dinner
so carefully,
as if it were the flag
of a country that no longer existed,
but once had ruled the world. (p. 3)
From The Four Stages of Love . . .
4
I want to believe it
when the pine tree out my window
tells me I don't have to be afraid
for my own death, not even,
Love, for yours. (p. 40)
From Thanksgiving . . .
2
On Thanksgiving, the phone
suddenly stops working. For this, too,
Lord, we give thanks.
3
Giant pines in November sunlight:
sitting inside their shadows
what is death to me?
4
Everyone is always younger than me
and more beautiful. Actually,
this arrangement works. (p. 56)
And finally, from There Goes That Little Mutt From Down The Street . . .
and the man, his owner,
walking together in the cold
December darkness:
love takes you
where you need to go,
no exceptions. (p. 67)
(Jim Moore, Invisible Strings: Poems, Minneapolis, Minnesota: Graywolf Press, 2011)
April 16, 2012
I would give this book of poetry a 5 star rating on the basis of this poem alone:
At first when you leave town,
the dog and I maintain a dignified silence.
After no more than two hours
I'm talking to her, after three
she's telling me the story of her life.
I nod my head at every word,
encouraging her
to take all the time she needs.
At first when you leave town,
the dog and I maintain a dignified silence.
After no more than two hours
I'm talking to her, after three
she's telling me the story of her life.
I nod my head at every word,
encouraging her
to take all the time she needs.
July 21, 2017
I loved this book, and went out and purchased my own copy so that I may read it again, and again. If you have an interest in poetry, but find it hard to read, this book is for you! Jim Moore's writing style will remind one why we love poetry so well.
July 27, 2013
Mr. Moore expresses The feeling of a moment of total clarity of life's laws. The acceptance of these rules and how reality is placed before us and we are observers to it. Very relaxing to read for those who like Buddhism you will enjoy.
September 13, 2016
Practical poetry written by a 60 year old man. Short lines that drip with visual imagery. Could finish within a bath's time, but not really.
the girls still wrap blue scarves
around their long necks,
then step out into the December air,
laughing.
the girls still wrap blue scarves
around their long necks,
then step out into the December air,
laughing.
August 1, 2011
Great book from a nice man.
August 19, 2011
Brief, beautiful poems.
November 10, 2011
Short, jagged, haiku-like. Really enjoyed it.
April 11, 2012
They were just...eh. They were sometimes sweet, sometimes nice, but mostly they read like the bland diary entries of someone to whom I could not relate. The Believer curse strikes again.
November 2, 2013
What a lovely, peaceful and wonderfully paced book of poems. Sad. Reflective. I must be getting old 'cause I appreciate poems by old people now.
December 25, 2014
Slow and full of ample breathe. Definitely American meditative. One gets the feeling this guy would be a good teacher to have.
September 6, 2016
It was hard not to read the whole book all at once. The poems are so simple and easy, yet they reflect so much of life and of quiet, often forgotten moments.
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