Politics

By Randall Mann Randall Mann

This is what he dreams of:

a map of burned land,

a mound of dirt

in the early century’s winter.

A map of burned land?

A country is razed

in the early century’s winter.

And God descends.

A country is raised

because of industry.

And God descends,

messengers rush inside

because of industry,

in spite of diplomats.

Messengers rush inside

to haunt the darkened aisles.

In spite of diplomats,

the witnesses know well

to haunt the darkened aisles,

experimentally—

the witnesses know well

that ushers dressed in black

experimentally

lurk by the cushioned seats.

That ushers dress in black

should tell you something:

lurking by the cushioned seats,

the saved and the terrible.

I should tell you something:

this is what he dreams of,

the saved and the terrible—

a mound of dirt.

Source: Breakfast with Thom Gunn (The University of Chicago Press, 2009)

Biography

Randall Mann’s poems are often set within the landscape of Florida or California. Influenced by Philip Larkin, Elizabeth Bishop, and Donald Justice, Mann’s poetry—at once vulnerable, unflinching, and brave in its ambivalence—explores themes of loss, attraction, brutality, and expectation. Of his preference for working in form, Mann says, “Form helps me approach more comfortably the personal, helps me harden argument.”

Mann is . . .

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