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That importance Dzieglewicz felt to write the book resonates in the world and on the page. The reader feels it from the jump: the foreword and timeline of events — which gives the reader the necessary historical and cultural context upfront, unlike many collections — and the first poem, which takes place a year after she left camp: “though / the river is not untouched, still, it squalls with life.”
The opening set of poems, like the whole book, becomes a page-turning link, from poem to poem, strengthened by the absence of explicit titles. The narrator explores his past lovers through a dream lens and expresses disappointed regret in his failure to form predictable emotions. We quickly catch on — this collection is the song of a visionary, the call of a man sorting out tough things with a jazz band jamming behind him.
I’ll admit, it ruined an enjoyable afternoon’s reading to discover that romantic notions about authorship are greater villains than late-capitalistic conglomerates with their bottom lines, unexplained cancellation of contracts, shrunken advances, nonexistent promotional plans for most books, and so on.
I am fascinated by what and whom Gallagher met in the 8th century, CE. Du Fu (712-770) is still considered the greatest poet. Lin Zexu (1785-1850) was a government official who held the highest Confucian ideals, intelligence, and loyalty to the country and people. He tried to end the opium trade with England. His efforts failed.
What makes Splashed Things such a strong collection is the utilization of the visual metaphor of splashes and water as an explanation for loss and grief. From poems on the physics of splashes to Doc Edgerton’s photography, Lucas returns to this again and again with grace and poise.
Within the broader canon of modern poetry, Vincenz occupies a fascinating and increasingly important position. His work emerges from traditions of surrealism, deep image poetics, ecological lyric, and international modernism, yet it also pushes beyond them into something distinctly twenty-first century: a poetics of fractured global consciousness.
Krassner’s playful and poignant memories seep through nibbling poems inviting the reader to find a comfortable chair and a cup of tea. If the sun is shining brightly, we’re reminded that clouds also linger — there are shadows on these floors and walls. The past is inspected and questioned.
Kris Kneen new book, Rite of Spring, is delightful, strange and bizarrely sexy. The title hints at awakening and that is one of the key themes in this book, which teases and tricks the reader with its silky narration, fast plot, and the beautiful conjunction of suspense and rich inner dialogue.
It’s a high-stakes adventure, with planes, guns, pervs, and the gyrations of a goddess in disguise. At the end of the day, it’s a short story collection about religious syncretization, told with a voice of winsome aloofness that makes funnier-than-hell into its own corner plot in heaven.
I learn that Zindell, now 73, plans to keep writing, keep creating in his Neverness universe. On a bright May morning in Denver, we talk about writing, old friends from the Northern Colorado Writer’s group, Nietzsche, AI, grandpas, and philosophy.