Overview

Although Time may be that Heraclitean river no one can step into twice, it's not really linear. Rapids churn in some places and it scarcely flows at others, almost stagnant. And the current often sideslips into eddies that circle indefinitely. At least Time seems to function like that as it flows through the memories of a long life. The Eightieth Year, although in the form of a journal comprising numbered entries for fifty-two weeks, follows the river through all of those variations, allowing memory to float downstream like a stick, accepting both whitewater and quiet pools, diverted into eddies as they come. No need any more to hurry.

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"""Of what is a life composed? In this apophatic lyric sequence, Don Thompson reflects upon the connections and patterns that have wended and frayed throughout his eighty years, harmonizing metaphor, memory, and his maybe-nemesis, the wind. These poems show us how to be attentive to others and how to accept ourselves, whether our oak is a burlap seedling or a stack of cordwood waiting for winter."" --Matthew Woodman, author of This Is Not Your Moon ""In The Eightieth Year, Don Thompson graces us with perhaps his most ambitious and accomplished poem. Unfolding the seasons in fifty-two segments, one for each week of the year, Thompson beautifully juxtaposes his present reality with that of his early childhood, both occurring in the rural reaches of the San Joaquin Valley of California. Like Wordsworth, Thompson has now written his own autobiographical prelude. This is a fine poem to savor. It reads like a story and sings like an aria. Taste and see."" --Paul J. Willis, author of Somewhere to Follow"

"""Of what is a life composed? In this apophatic lyric sequence, Don Thompson reflects upon the connections and patterns that have wended and frayed throughout his eighty years, harmonizing metaphor, memory, and his maybe-nemesis, the wind. These poems show us how to be attentive to others and how to accept ourselves, whether our oak is a burlap seedling or a stack of cordwood waiting for winter."" --Matthew Woodman, author of This Is Not Your Moon ""In The Eightieth Year, Don Thompson graces us with perhaps his most ambitious and accomplished poem. Unfolding the seasons in fifty-two segments, one for each week of the year, Thompson beautifully juxtaposes his present reality with that of his early childhood, both occurring in the rural reaches of the San Joaquin Valley of California. Like Wordsworth, Thompson has now written his own autobiographical prelude. This is a fine poem to savor. It reads like a story and sings like an aria. Taste and see."" --Paul J. Willis, author of Somewhere to Follow"

Author Information

Don Thompson was born in Bakersfield, California, and has spent most of his life not far from there. He has been publishing poetry since the early sixties, including over a dozen books and chapbooks. He and his wife, Chris, live on her family's farm near Buttonwillow in a house that has been home to four generations. In 2016 he was selected as the first poet laureate of Kern County.

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