Autor: Andrew Duncan

Editorial: Shearsman Books

Páginas: 132

Idioma: eng

Publicado: 29/06/2018

Alto: mm

Ancho: 152.00 mm

Lomo: 7.86 mm

Acabado: Tapa Blanda

Sinopsis:

“For the last 30 years, Andrew Duncan has patiently traced alternative wavelengths, to and from the unevocable, irreconcilable and the impossible.”—Kevin Nolan

“Seeing this sequence as a large, articulated work, put into its sections and with the culminations of a sustained amplitude, I esteem its achievement very highly. It is strong and active with the questions of power which underlie the strength; the instrumentalism of language is put under sustained pressure, both of invention and expression, and the outcome Is negotiated closely across a wide range of historical predicament and moral passion. The method is conspicuously unoriginal, but its uses are strikingly productive and grand.” – J.H. Prynne, on Threads of Iron

“… this letter is really about one thing, namely Andrew Duncan’s Skeleton looking at Chinese Pictures, which I have been reading at intervals now for some time. I think that certainly it is a remarkable book and I also recognize that I must inhabit a shamefully restricted part of the literary world for me not to have encountered his poetry before this[.] …

What I admire most in Duncan’s work is his willingness (indeed enthusiasm) for not confining things to any sort of ghetto. He likes as much history and mediaevalism as Pound but he also aspires to a contemporary concern for life in our modern mercantile mess. His chief fault, it seems to me, is a sort of verbal vertigo: too many words spin round and round[.] It’s excellent the way he refuses to be cowed by any sort of notion of appropriateness or decorum, so that runic and traditional poetics mix with the city of London and sexual turpitude in modern life. […] There are many properly ‘big’ poems—something which doesn’t get attempted sufficiently these days, presumably because it gives hostages to fortune.

If I say that I am reminded at times of Peter Redgrove, Lawrence Durrell, and even David Jones, with a touch of a more unbuttoned Geoffrey Hill, I am not implying any kind of influence ... It is certainly a rich book and now that I have marinaded my mind in it, I expect to return to individual poems with greater pleasure and understanding.” —Peter Porter, from a letter.