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A Fond Adieu to Yves Bonnefoy
Yesterday I happened to finish Ben Lerner‘s crafty and subtle monograph, The Hatred of Poetry, and a few hours later, while Lerner’s essay was still effervescing in my brain, discovered that Yves Bonnefoy had died a day before (Friday, July 1), in Paris. The first reports I saw (Radio France and the BBC) were sketchy and perfunctory. A more in-depth obituary appears in Le Monde, though I had to suffer through a Google translation to read it.Read More
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Mexico Books 2009: Immanent Visitor
I can’t pretend to understand the writing of Bolivian poet Jaime Saenz. It seems to arise from the imaginal without taking on the perceptual particularities we’ve come to expect from poetry in the long wake of Imagism and Objectivism (no, not the silly philosophy of Ayn Rand). For me, reading Saenz is similar to reading Blake‘s prophetic books, but Saenz doesn’t seem to be presenting a coherent visionary system; his poems are more surreal than symbolic—but in many ways even stranger and more compelling than almost any surrealist poetry I can think of.Read More
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Closed Histories
I’m too harried with work to write a thorough review of Sara Veglahn’s extraordinary chapbook Closed Histories, but I want to take a moment to recommend it. To the extent that comparisons are useful in describing a distinctive new voice, I would say that her work has similarities to writers as diverse as Karen Volkman, Yves Bonnefoy, Samuel Beckett, Henri Michaux, and the Gertrude Stein of Tender Buttons. Needless to say, I hope, these associations are subjective, and Ms. Veglahn herself might disavow them all! So I should let her speak for herself, if briefly: From the window, light.Read More
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Gleanings from Bonnefoy’s Rimbaud
In the post just previous I mentioned Yves Bonnefoy’s wonderful study Rimbaud, and while it’s far too concentrated to comment on in detail, I thought I’d offer a few quotes from it related to poetry in general: Genius, at least where poetry is concerned, consists precisely in being faithful to freedom. * It will suffice that words refuse to be concepts; that they keep themselves from serving; that they disappoint man’s propensity towards empirical observation in order to remain as much as possible in the light of the unnamed.Read More
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A Rimbaud Stratagem
What is it about certain books that we buy and then leave untouched on the shelf? Or books we open now and then, sample a few paragraphs, then close and reshelve, temporizing: “Not in the mood”; “Too serious for summer”; “I need to read more about the period before trying this one”; “I need to learn French first.” But you never learn French. And yet finally—many years after buying the book—a strategem comes to mind, and a few days later you’ve read it, enjoyed it, been somehow awakened by it.Read More