<< 1 >>
Rating: 
Summary: As much what remains...
Review: Michael Palmer has crossed the wide ocean of language through its treacherous currents and eddying whirpools he has brought news from the far country, news of the possibility of meaning, of knowledge, even, I imagine, of salvation.But as in the hero's mythological quest, the poet in search of these lights must submerge himself in the dark wood of the space-without-meaning, the denial of knowing, the dangerous hinges language turns on, the arbitrary construction of meaning in service of politics. Reading a Michael Palmer poem is like suddenly realizing has wandered into traffic, or unfamiliar territory: language poetry in rhyming couplets, a poem that begins as collage but suddenly "degrades" into narrative, a fragmented work that against its own chaotic urges suddenly coheres. They are wards against the dark, entreaties to light, they are mantras, yogic chants, magic spells, they are the ancient underground exposing themselves in service of human progress. This new book continues the progression of his work in bold and dangerous directions.
Rating:
Summary: It's true
Review: Michael Palmer may likely be the most important, and consistently pleasing, poet of his generation: he balances elegance and palpability like a sky balances sun and moon. Even in the most brutish juxtapositions and disconnections, one senses the haunted calm beneath the discordant hum. The man can turn a phrase. The man can make ingredients congeal that should not congeal. Imagine Joseph Cornell with a Ph.D., tons of French lit books, a wife, a kid and a dance company. He's the poet that I'm struggling the most to not just blatantly copy because his verses are the most complexly lovely and moving of any I have worn. He's surprisingly accessible and un-academic.
Rating:
Summary: It's true
Review: Michael Palmer may likely be the most important, and consistently pleasing, poet of his generation: he balances elegance and palpability like a sky balances sun and moon. Even in the most brutish juxtapositions and disconnections, one senses the haunted calm beneath the discordant hum. The man can turn a phrase. The man can make ingredients congeal that should not congeal. Imagine Joseph Cornell with a Ph.D., tons of French lit books, a wife, a kid and a dance company. He's the poet that I'm struggling the most to not just blatantly copy because his verses are the most complexly lovely and moving of any I have worn. He's surprisingly accessible and un-academic.
Rating:
Summary: great fun great depth
Review: Michael Palmer, one of the most influential poets of his generation, continues his trademark of meticulous experimentation here. Such a range of language is in this book. He's one of the poets I recommend most highly for any poetry reader, & this book is very exciting for its slow, deliberate, essentially unique clip.
Rating:
Summary: great fun great depth
Review: Michael Palmer, one of the most influential poets of his generation, continues his trademark of meticulous experimentation here. Such a range of language is in this book. He's one of the poets I recommend most highly for any poetry reader, & this book is very exciting for its slow, deliberate, essentially unique clip.
Rating: 
Summary: Blasting passed the Passages...somewhat.
Review: Quod begins by shifting his weight to the center of the concealed disc. No autobiography is complete without sleight-of-hand. Quod defines the "vision" as a carpet thrown out from under,--dislodging the phantasm, the second-sight--. No vision is complete without the tug of failure, without an aggravating sense of the ironic. Quod may be misled by education. Quod I've seen several times in the area, haunted yet perservering in the philosophical soup he's ladled onto a lyricism--stirred, tasted, and evacuated. Quod still confounds me...and for that I am grateful.
Rating:
Summary: Blasting passed the Passages...somewhat.
Review: Quod begins by shifting his weight to the center of the concealed disc. No autobiography is complete without sleight-of-hand. Quod defines the "vision" as a carpet thrown out from under,--dislodging the phantasm, the second-sight--. No vision is complete without the tug of failure, without an aggravating sense of the ironic. Quod may be misled by education. Quod I've seen several times in the area, haunted yet perservering in the philosophical soup he's ladled onto a lyricism--stirred, tasted, and evacuated. Quod still confounds me...and for that I am grateful.
<< 1 >>
| 
