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Friday Notebook 09.23.11
Well, it’s been another fallow week. What can I say? Well, how about this oldie—a baldfaced imitation of the inimitable Russell Edson. Reading it in my three-ring binder from 1975, I recognize . . . well, this past week: A Short History of Existential MedicineThe corpse was having an enema. Of course, this won’t do any good, said the doctor.Why not? cried the corpse.My good man, you are already dead, explained the doctor. Isn’t there a pill I could take for my condition? shouted the corpse.Nothing would help, the doctor replied.Then give me nothing! shrieked the corpse.Read More
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I’ve been meaning…
… for some time to review Destruction Myth by Mathias Svalina but haven’t known what to say, or what intelligent I might say (to be more precise), other than noting that Svalina doesn’t sound like other American poets, except maybe flashes here and there of Russell Edson, the somewhat flat voice masking a manic zaniness, as if Steven Wright had thrown over stand-up comedy for poetry, and in fact there are some Edsonesque turns here, and some moments when I can imagine Svalina rubbing his brow the way Wright does in that puzzled and faintly pained way, as if it hurts…Read More