Tuesday, March 25, 2008

News at Eleven: A Michael Hofmann poem is now a rare,

strange, much valued item. Strange because, at first glance, many of the poems seem no more than frayed notes concerning a mood between depression and despair; but then something in that fraying catches at you, either some odd shift in register, or maybe just a sense that as your eyes are blithely passing over the words suddenly a hole has opened up beneath them and you are falling through the language, into a world of cries.

from The Guardian: Said and done

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