Poet Jesse Nathan Recites Poetry at 222 for a Fortunate Few

Jesse Nathan's poems have appeared in The Paris Review, the Yale Review and The Nation. He was named winner of the 2024 New Writers Award in Poetry. Nathan's a prof. of literature at UC Berkeley. Luckily for me, I heard him recite from his debut poetry collection, "Eggtooth" with an intimate few at The 222 last evening. Saturday night in the town of Healdsburg had a lot going on, including a free concert by the Healdsburg Symphony in a tribute to the music of John Williams. I sneaked in late to hear the last few selections from the all brass and percussion orchestra conducted by Ken Collins. I was already jubilant from Nathan's poetry reading. Nathan shared his split childhood, having been born and raised in Berkeley and then moving at 11 with his parents and brother to rural Kansas.  His mother's Mennonite family has lived on farmlands in Kansas for several generations. The culture shock made Jesse a bit of an oddball outsider with his long hair and city garb. Thankfully, life was filled with unsupervised exploration with his brother and cousins as they roamed freely along the creeks and rural fields. The wide open spaces were a welcome if not daunting adjustment to his new life in farm country. Nathan's mother and her family are all Mennonite and his father, Jewish. "This gave me another duality in addition to splitting my time between Berkeley and my family in Kansas which made art out of not, not being able to create art." Nathan read with his rich, soothing voice, from his poems elaborating upon his immersion in nature and an affinity for the sparse array of trees. I found his lyrical poetry resplendent with wonder.  I've captured several phrases from the various poems that resonated with me which I have spliced together to create a whole from fractured fragments. 

As if a shadow had a shadow - Her breasts went flying and froth became her hair - To eat one's fortunes raw - Words pay not all, speak so I can see your arguing voices - light appears cuspid - His noiseless blooming mouth open to the murk - Where sleep doesn't house sleep beyond the trees - The grass is hissing to breath that sigh - Dinosaur bones got planted by God just to amuse us - Always bit parts he asks, Always - there's an accuracy but no precision - Use me like an eggtooth, use me sustained to sing and fly - each message returned to the ether, our alcove of meanwhile.