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Adios, Paul Auster
I came Paul Auster not through The New York Trilogy but through a skinny chapbook from Station Hill press called Facing the Music, published in 1980. It had goodbye woven all through it. Not “goodbye cruel world” but goodbye to poetry, which he’d been writing and publishing for a decade. It was his last standalone collection, and when I think of him now, I think of those 13 pages of valedictory verse. Poetry may address emptiness but it thrives in being. Auster needed prose to keep one foot firmly planted in each of those conditions.Read More