The Spell Cast Over

In the old days we could see nakedness only
in the burlesque houses. In the lavish
theatres left over from vaudeville,
ruined in the Great Depression. What had been
grand gestures of huge chandeliers
and mythic heroes courting the goddess
on the ceiling. Now the chandeliers were grimy...

Audio interview with Jack Gilbert on NPR

Jack Gilbert at the Academy of American Poets

Jack Gilbert at Poetry Foundation

The Paris Review Interview with Jack Gilbert

 I have a poem, "Trying to Have Something Left Over," in which I've been unfaithful to my wife and she knows it and she's mad. It's the last night and I'm going to say goodbye to Anna, the other woman. She's had a baby—not by me—and her husband has left her because he couldn't take all that muck of a baby being born. This is the last night I'll ever see her and I feel incredibly tender and grateful and loving toward her. And we're not in bed—previously we had a wild relationship. Anyway, here's the last night to say goodbye. She's cleaning house quietly and sadly, and I'm entertaining her boy, her baby, throwing him up in the air and catching him. It's a poem about that. Sad and tender. A truly adult dream. Profound tenderness.
  That's what I like to write as poems. Not because it's sad, but because it matters. So much poetry that's written today doesn't need to be written. I don't understand the need for trickery or some new way of arranging words on a page. You're allowed to do that. You're allowed to write all kinds of poetry, but there's a whole world out there.

Jack Gilbert's Lannan Foundation reading (1995)