“Nostalgia,”
writes scholar Tony Esolen, is not mere “misty-eyed adulation of an imagined
time that never existed,” nor “reactionary sentimentalism.” It is “the ache to
turn back home,” a mirror of the soul’s yearning for our eternal home, heaven. It
is the longing to break free of our postmodern alienation and set our steps
back on the journey to meaning and belonging. And it is the theme that courses
through Wanderings
in Place, the latest collection of poetry from David Horowitz Freedom Center president
Michael Finch.
I reviewed Finding
Home, Finch’s first collection of poems, for FrontPage Mag here in 2015. Like
that book, Wanderings in Place is a very personal volume, with poems anchored
in Finch’s vivid memories of loves and landscapes and longing. But when art is personal
and true and heartfelt, it rises above the personal and resonates with our
common humanity, and that is the case here. Also like Finding
Home,
the new book has a very American character, grounded as it is in our unique
spirit of freedom and in
the lands,
forests, fields, rivers,
from Great Lakes
to widening expanse, a land blessed
of waves of amber
grain and purple hues, rising up
against the great
Rockies across desert to the mighty sea.
“I have spent my
life searching for America,” Finch wrote in the introduction to Finding
Home,
“for what we have lost. And always searching for home. We are a rootless
people, a rootless nation, it is a great strength as we always strive and push
out and go beyond all limits. But who can deny the void that it leaves?” In more
than three dozen short poems in his new book, Finch helps lead us out of that
void into the welcoming panoramas of an American home we are in danger of
losing.
What is it we are
losing, exactly, and why? In poems with titles such as “American Man in Final,”
“Thoughts of Freedom Dying,” “Oh, America,” and “Statues Fall,” Finch laments:
Our might,
our freedom, our
strength, our land our culture
faded into memory,
traveled faraway, gone forever.
And:
This moment of a
nation, a people who lived free,
lived in liberty so
unique, so true, so brief.
Praise be to God
for all of it – even if fleeting, fading, and gone.
It was, in our
time, glorious.
He lays the blame for
our decline on the false “love of our own created gods” and our failure to stand
firm against an internal enemy:
We didn’t hold
fast, lost faith, and now,
slipped and
vanishing before our eyes,
in a generation’s
blink taken, given, freedom
whisking past like
whispers of ghosts.
A progressive
rise, revolt of elites, opened borders
sovereignty spent,
all for profit and power, and nothing left.
Land of gutted
factories, torn families, wasted lives
shattered dreams,
vacant, blown-through memories.









