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Homeland, Nina Berman (Trolley Books) £24.99

Homeland collects photographer Nina Berman’s last seven years of exploring the way fear has manipulated American culture since the beginning of the Homeland Security Era. Her photographs do exactly what the best social commentary does: they capture the essence of things elegantly and succinctly. She’s done a good job of depicting cross-generational changes, though her photographs are mostly set in the Midwest and South of the United States. My favorite photographs are those of massive Home Security training exercises, complete with paid extras, elaborate sets, and fake blood. These, it seems to me, are a quintessentially American response to fear. Other favorites include her shots of parades and celebrations, all tainted with pro-military marketing. Propaganda has always been an art form, and Berman captures the influence of popular advertisement on its latest manifestations.

Together with her photographs, which I can easily imagine becoming emblematic of early 2000s America, Berman has written short commentaries from the point-of-view of her subjects. From one, entitled “Prepare”:

I belong to the Homefront Security Patrol, a volunteer program that lets me wear a uniform and carry a radio and drive  in a police car with a partner three mornings a week. We patrol our streets, public buildings and tennis courts, looking for anything or anyone suspicious – bombs, terrorists, and whatnot…

And from another, titled “Believe”:

I live in a country uniquely blessed. I feel this when I enter my church and see our Christian flag next to our American flag.

I feel it on God and Country Sunday when members of our military march down the aisle. I’m proud and humbled to have a pastor who is so close to Christ, our warrior, and also to our President.

In her artist’s statement Berman writes that these should be considered seriously, suggesting that they are more than satire. That, in my opinion, is easily believable. My issue with the commentary is that it is not fully contextualized. It’s true that a large percentage of Americans would agree with some of her statements, but looking at them only in that way can have a liberal, de-humanizing effect; it can exoticize. That said, it is true that the commentary focuses on the subject at hand. Still, it might be more generously presented if it had been collected from actual speakers, something I believe possible with the collection of oral histories. Michael Shaw’s articulate note, which also follows the photographic text of the book, suggests too much, and it’s fortunate that it appears only after the photographs. Though I am mostly  in agreement with him I feel he is perhaps more aggressive than necessary for a commentary on the arts, too Adbusters for this context.

In her note, Berman discusses the recent etymology of the word “homeland,” as the space we Americans now “occupy and define.” Her photographs have begun the impressive work of offering a definition. In some sense Homeland is a coffee table travel book about a land we’ve been living in all along, without realizing it fully.


DS

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The Tanners, Robert Walser. (New Directions) $15.95

The-Tanners“The traces Robert Walser left on his path through life were so faint as to have been almost effaced altogether… he was only ever connected with the world in the most fleeting of ways.” So begins W.G. Sebald in his introduction to New Directions’ recent publication of The Tanners, and the truth of his observation could easily be proven with even a cursory poll of American bibliophiles. Though admired in his own day by  Franz Kafka and Hermann Hesse, Walser has been largely over-looked among readers outside of Switzerland and Germany; until recently, that is, when academia rediscovered his works  forgotten amongst the topmost shelves of modernism—wedged, perhaps, between dusty volumes of Remarque and Brecht. 

Simon Tanner, of the title’s Tanners, is a study in paradox: loquacious and introspective, industrious and idle, he stumbles through the Swiss countryside and through various employments in constant vacillation between excitement and boredom. In fact, sense of belonging and comfort with surrounding seem to be  emotional states that elude the Tanner family as a whole. They wander like orphans from job to job, town to town, and sibling to sibling with little of the self-confidence that is provided by an anchor of home.

Reading through the book one gets the impression that Walser suffered from some sort of literary anti-ADD. For him pen and paper must have swelled, as though viewed through a magnifying glass, until he could clearly see the missing bits of speech and chronicle he had yet to include. He then slotted all those bits into place so that each description, each dialogue, spans over pages and pages with hardly a pause for paragraphs breaks, or even the other sides of his characters’ meandering conversations. When Walser’s characters congregate in dining-rooms or stroll through fields, they don’t converse—they orate. In a 2000 review of The Robber and Jakob von Gunten, J.M. Coetzee remarks that “Walser’s texts are driven neither by logic nor by narrative but by moods, fancies, and associations: in temperament he is less a thinker or storyteller than an essayist.”

Yet somehow, despite his daunting blocks of unbroken text and long-winded oratory, Walser’s work remains readable and delicate. His humor is complex and his descriptions are laid out beautifully, with a painter’s eye. Simon’s indecision becomes irksome at times, but as his sister proclaims to him in a moment exaggerated vexation, “your behavior liberates our behavior from every sort of restraint.” And I find myself agreeing with her. 

 

Tim Bagdanov, Fiction Columnist and Investigator of Oddities, is currently pursuing a Master’s of Teaching degree at Chapman University. A writer of fiction and poetry, he lives in Orange, California with his wife, Jessica.   

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I’m now twenty days into the Year of Poetry experiment. I’ve lagged behind a few days, owing to an out-of-state funeral, review deadlines for other magazines, and a few other projects, but I’ve always caught up within a few days. I’ve read some really good books; my favorites, so far: A Time in Xanadu, by Lars Gustafsson, The Scattered Papers of Penelope, by Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke, and Look There, by Agi Mishol. It’s also been nice reading the Poetry Translation Centre/Enitharmon chapbook boxset—I just wish the selections were longer.

Since its initial conception, the experiment has evolved. The first day I realized that 140 characters would not allow for any quotations, which I deem crucial to the quality review. I made the decision to quote 140 characters of verse immediately following their respective 140 character reviews, and I think that those short fragments have interacted interestingly. 

The most difficult thing about these reviews is the most obvious: their length. It is difficult in 140 characters to balance the good and bad qualities of any work—especially when that work is for the most part, thus far, good. My reviews sound a little too much like back-cover blurbs, despite my best efforts to achieve balance. Likewise, with the few books I haven’t liked, it’s difficult to do justice to their better qualities, something I think important. 

I’ve now announced by next nine titles, and I’m preparing to update the list again soon. Do feel free to comment here or on Twitter, to let me know what you think of the brief reviews, of how they could be improved, and if they’re at all useful.

Thanks for following the Year of Poetry!

David Shook, Editor

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Beginning 1 September I will read a book of poetry each day for a year, writing 140-character reviews on Twitter, at http://twitter.com/yearofpoetry and on Molossus. I hope to accomplish more than compile 365 pithy back cover blurbs, to truly experiment with the medium as an effective venue for contemporary book reviewing.

I remember once, during my early interest in poetry, explaining to my mother in a bookstore that collections of poetry shouldn’t be read through—that poems should be enjoyed by themselves and that collections, even by single authors, were basically anthologies of one hit wonders. By graduate school I was vehemently opposed to the one hit wonder made popular by the MFA—what Donald Hall calls the McPoem—and interested in interconnected sequences of lyrics and the framework that connected them. I read collections straight through, often in a single sitting, trying to understand how the poems worked together.

As an online broadside, our interest in electronic media is obvious. As a critic, I am especially interested in new networks of media exposure: blogs, Facebook, Twitter, and the like. With the recent upsurge in literary content on Twitter—ranging from Penguin Poetry news updates to the alleged musings Edgar Allen Poe—I wondered if poetry, a medium known for its succinctness, could be effectively reviewed in 140 characters. Rather than experimenting with an occasional Twitter review, I have decided to commit myself to developing an effective format for the medium, by reviewing a collection each day for a year. 

Please do follow me on Twitter. To read the book list, which will be periodically updated, click here

 

David Shook

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An Aquarium, Jeffrey Yang. (Graywolf Press) $15.00

An-Aquarium_Yang-320x487Jeffrey Yang is an editor at New Directions, and his poetry evidences his wide exposure to world literature, manifested both in allusions—with poems featuring the literature and philosophy of peoples from around the world, ranging from the indigenous Miskito of coastal Nicaragua to Vishnu Ivara, as well as mythology name dropping on behalf of the Hawaiians, Maya, Olmec, and others—and in tone. The book catalogues the contents of Yang’s world aquarium alphabetically, beginning with his poem “Abalone,” and ending with “Zooxanthellae.” Yang often ends descriptive sequences with straightforward and contextually quaint declarations, an effect that occasionally strikes out but works on the whole. He ends his poem “Dolphin,” for example, with:

Scientists tell us that if we
rearrange a few of our genes,
we’d become dolphins. Wouldn’t
that be real progress! 

which indeed seems too quaint for contemporary poetry. In “Eel,” the poem immediately following that one, however, he uses it to great effect and with sly humor, as in the best aphorisms:

Eels are slimy creatures.
But they never lie. If they sense
the slightest pretence, they’ll
bite off your finger. Carefully 
study the hands of politicians. 

Not all of Yang’s alphabetical poems are about sea creatures, dry land titles include “Intelligent Design,” and “Rexroth.” 

Altogether a noteworthy book, An Aquarium engages world literature in an important dialogue. It contains allusions worth investigating further, a scientific but unpretentious vocabulary, and an assortment of interesting facts, like that “The barnacle has the longest penis / of any animal in proportion / to its body size.” 

The Gigantic Robot, Tom Gauld. (Buenaventura Press) $16.95

robotDescribed by Daniel Clowes as “A perfect little book,” Tom Gauld’s 32-page board book for adults captures perfectly the understatement of the children’s board book. His translation of the medium works well for his subject matter, the construction and eventual neglect of an instrument of war, an occurrence too often shrouded in political jargonese or ideological oversimplification. Social philosophy aside, Gauld is a contemporary Gorey, reminiscent of the late illustrator both in his minimal style and the terse, simple narration that accompanies his illustrations, differing in his political inclinations. The book is easy to flip through, but like its smaller board book cousins, it grows richer with each re-read.

robot1

 

DS

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Because of The Haunted House, The Gifts of the Body, and The End of Youth, Rebecca Brown’s writings have been regarded by many as some of the greatest contributions to contemporary gay and lesbian literature.
An activist, teacher and community organizer, Brown has used a variety of mediums to project her voice, including composing the libretto for the dance opera The Onion Twins, working with painter Nancy Kiefer on a book Woman in Ill Fitting Wig, and developing the original two-act play The Toaster. In her most recent work, American ROMANCES, Brown presents a collection of unusual essays that explore the idea of what it means to be American.
At moments reading the American ROMANCES can seem disorienting. Brown intertwines pop culture, autobiography, literary and cinematic history, drawing upon everything from John Wayne’s personal life to Gertrude Stein’s infatuation with the Oreo to the author’s own adolescent struggle with Christian faith to illustrate her ideas. Yet, while using a hybrid of genres, she always manages to connect her histories/memories/stories to a larger idea of what makes America the way it is. The result of Brown’s work is an entertaining journey into seeing in unlikely places how:
American mainstream culture derives from these sources: England (our official language and laws); race warfare (killing the Natives to take the land; building an entire economy on slave labor); and religious fanaticism (the Puritans and everything created in opposition to them, such rock ‘n’ roll, feminism, sex for anything other than babies):  and the public confession by which we try to both explain everything and explain everything else away.
An intense read, Brown’s activist voice does leaks out in certain places. As when, after describing Ellison’s Invisible Man, Brown states “How many times do we have to go through this invisiblilizng of others?  When are we vermin going to get that we’re all here, we’re all queer (or colored or weird or different) and just get used to it”. However, throughout the essays, Brown maintains a mostly playful tone while she makes interesting historical connections and often dips into her deeply personal past.
For example, she draws comparisons between author Nathanial Hawthorne and beach boy musician Brian Wilson (who grew up in the California suburb of Hawthorne) as a springboard for exploring some thoughts on what constitutes the American spirit.
Viewing Nathaniel Hawthorne as a symbol of East Coast Puritanism, she retells how the Puritans came to new soil as an act of defiance, to set up a new way of life, “Oh, the sins of the fathers! Oh, the visitations upon the sons! The dream of America! The nightmare, the horror, the hope.” The Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson then stands as an icon of West Coast Hedonism. While the culture of the West Coast has in many ways formed as a reaction against Puritanism, ultimately both share a common spirit of rebellion and exploration. “The Puritans dreamt of the City on the Hill and came to the New World to build it. Then when it went to hell their sons and sons of sons went west, and daughters, too… And so, to California they went”.
Later, when recounting her early years as a fundamentalist Christian and her break from faith, Brown recognizes that her own life has, at times embodied both Puritanism and the West Coast spirit.  She describes how by the time college came she had rejected her religious past, but that at the same time she also felt that “Part of me also missed it. I missed having faith in something and believing things could turn out right over time”. Here, Brown draws up another important thread that runs throughout American ROMANCES: how nostalgia, an idealized romance of the past, and a rejection of history has all shaped American into what it is.
Whether she’s being tragic or funny—and she sometimes is both simultaneously—Brown always points her essays back to poignant conclusions. Describing her fundamentalist past she writes, “Now I think that words can be a way to point toward God, and a story, like the Christian one, can tell, in a way I understand, about encountering a God who always was and is and does not need our telling.”
Throughout the rest of the collection, Brown writes in a variety of registers, from informal conversation to the detailed scholarly history to something near poetry. This helps keep the piece engaging and fresh.

Ultimately, American ROMANCES offers bold reflection on the complicated question of trying to figure out just what is and isn’t American. Rebecca Brown has written a fun and powerful book that balances its insight with entertainment.

Ameri

American ROMANCES, Rebecca Brown. (City Lights) $16.95

aroman

Because of The Haunted House, The Gifts of the Body, and The End of Youth, Rebecca Brown’s writings have been regarded by many as some of the greatest contributions to contemporary gay and lesbian literature.

An activist, teacher and community organizer, Brown has used a variety of mediums to project her voice, including composing the libretto for the dance opera The Onion Twins, working with painter Nancy Kiefer on a book Woman in Ill-Fitting Wig, and developing the original two-act play The Toaster. In her most recent work, American ROMANCES, Brown presents a collection of unusual essays that explore the idea of what it means to be American.

At moments reading the American ROMANCES can seem disorienting. Brown intertwines pop culture, autobiography, literary and cinematic history, drawing upon everything from John Wayne’s personal life to Gertrude Stein’s infatuation with the Oreo to the author’s own adolescent struggle with Christian faith to illustrate her ideas. Yet, while using a hybrid of genres, she always manages to connect her histories/memories/stories to a larger idea of what makes America the way it is. The result of Brown’s work is an entertaining journey into seeing in unlikely places how:

American mainstream culture derives from these sources: England (our official language and laws); race warfare (killing the Natives to take the land; building an entire economy on slave labor); and religious fanaticism (the Puritans and everything created in opposition to them, such rock ‘n’ roll, feminism, sex for anything other than babies):  and the public confession by which we try to both explain everything and explain everything else away.

An intense read, Brown’s activist voice does leaks out in certain places. As when, after describing Ellison’s Invisible Man, Brown states “How many times do we have to go through this invisiblilizng of others?  When are we vermin going to get that we’re all here, we’re all queer (or colored or weird or different) and just get used to it”. However, throughout the essays, Brown maintains a mostly playful tone while she makes interesting historical connections and often dips into her deeply personal past.

For example, she draws comparisons between author Nathanial Hawthorne and beach boy musician Brian Wilson (who grew up in the California suburb of Hawthorne) as a springboard for exploring some thoughts on what constitutes the American spirit.

Viewing Nathaniel Hawthorne as a symbol of East Coast Puritanism, she retells how the Puritans came to new soil as an act of defiance, to set up a new way of life, “Oh, the sins of the fathers! Oh, the visitations upon the sons! The dream of America! The nightmare, the horror, the hope.” The Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson then stands as an icon of West Coast Hedonism. While the culture of the West Coast has in many ways formed as a reaction against Puritanism, ultimately both share a common spirit of rebellion and exploration. “The Puritans dreamt of the City on the Hill and came to the New World to build it. Then when it went to hell their sons and sons of sons went west, and daughters, too… And so, to California they went”.

Later, when recounting her early years as a fundamentalist Christian and her break from faith, Brown recognizes that her own life has, at times embodied both Puritanism and the West Coast spirit.  She describes how by the time college came she had rejected her religious past, but that at the same time she also felt that “Part of me also missed it. I missed having faith in something and believing things could turn out right over time”. Here, Brown draws up another important thread that runs throughout American ROMANCES: how nostalgia, an idealized romance of the past, and a rejection of history has all shaped America into what it is.

Whether she’s being tragic or funny—and she sometimes is both simultaneously—Brown always points her essays back to poignant conclusions. Describing her fundamentalist past she writes, “Now I think that words can be a way to point toward God, and a story, like the Christian one, can tell, in a way I understand, about encountering a God who always was and is and does not need our telling.”

Throughout the rest of the collection, Brown writes in a variety of registers, from informal conversation to the detailed scholarly history to something near poetry. This helps keep the piece engaging and fresh.

Ultimately, American ROMANCES offers bold reflection on the complicated question of trying to figure out just what is and isn’t American. Rebecca Brown has written a fun and powerful book that balances its insight with entertainment.

Ted English is a teacher of first-year composition and a graduate student of English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Oklahoma

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Aria: Poetry Translations by Sudeep Sen. (Yeti Books, Calicut & Mulfran Press, Cardiff) Rs.399 & £11.99

I.

Sudeep Sen’s highly praised books include Postmarked India, Prayer Flag, Distracted Geographies, and the poetic meditation, Rain, illustrated by twenty of India’s top artists. His work has been translated into twenty-five languages and his writings have appeared in leading international and national newspapers and journals and been widely broadcast. In Aria he offers a synthesis of his abilities as a poet and translator to bring to the wider public an anthology of work by 17 South Asian poets (ranging from Rabindranath Tagore and Gulzar to lesser known and newer voices) and 10 writers from other parts of the world. The translated languages range from Hindi, Bengali and Urdu to Korean, Hebrew, Icelandic, Persian, Macedonian, Polish and Spanish. In his introduction to Aria, Sen reveals that it is his experience of growing up tri-lingual and being able to slip between the languages and registers of Bengali, Hindi and English that gives his poetry and translations a multi-dimensional character; and this quality is one of the book’s greatest achievements—as Sen’s translations move with ease through a variety of voices and registers.

Jibanananda Das has been called one of the most loved Bengali poets, after Rabindranath Tagore, and it’s easy to see why. The beautiful poem, ‘Banalata Sen’, has echoes of Omar Khayyam’s famous rubaiyat. The translation starts with a wonderful striding movement:

For a thousand years I have walked this earth’s passage
by day and night — from Lanka’s shores to Malay’s vast seas.

The second stanza, which begins ‘Like the dense ink-night of Bidhisha, her hair — black, deep black;’ has the deeply sensuous, hypnotic quality that distinguishes much of Sen’s own poetry — especially his love poetry. This is a case of poet and translator being exceptionally well attuned. Das’s work is followed by four delightfully playful poems taken from the Visva Bharati edition of the Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s nonsense verse, Khapcharra. Of these I especially liked the Pythonesque ‘Bird-seller says, “This is a black-coloured chanda.”’ To which the buyer, Panulal Haldar, replies, “I’m not blind — It is definitely a crow.”

AriaIt isn’t often that poetry makes you gasp; the last time, for me was many years ago on first reading Sylvia Plath’s poem ‘Edge’ in which the moon is shown ‘Staring from her hood of bone. // Her blacks crackle and drag.’  The poems of Mandakranta Sen also induce a sharp intake of breath. To quote K. Satchidanandan (Molossus, July 2009) Mandakranta Sen is one of the brave women poets who ‘are fighting patriarchy and evolving their own mode of writing often organised around the female body and self’. Her Bengali poetry seems to me to represent an authentic voice for women, undiluted by patriarchal values. Her first poem, ‘The Witch’ contains imagery that disturbs and provokes. Identified by her habit of secretly writing poetry in the middle of the night with her hair undone, the moonstruck witch ‘roasts, then eats the pulpy sadness / Plucked from the crown of her head’. In ‘Nature Goddess’ the body is itemised and carved up —

Packing my groin, my navel, my buttocks in a sack,
I left my home for the sloping wrong side of the track.

The fact that these poems are beautifully rendered in rhymed and half-rhymed couplets belies their often excoriating language and themes. Another Sen — Mithu Sen — also uses what the ancient Sumerians called emesai or ‘women’s speech’. Her poetry is quiet, confessional and intense and she often uses forms that are even more spare than haiku.

In Bangladesh, Shamsur Rahman is considered to be one of the most distinguished Bengali poets of his generation. Syed Manzoorul Islam speaks of Rahman as having ‘produced a solid body of work which has permanently changed the geography and the climate of Bengali poetry … He has given us a language, which we did not have.’ The selection of his poems in this volume varies from the romantic (as in ‘Love’s Overture’), to the domestic (‘Mother’) which is a moving tribute to the role of women in South Asian life — especially, his own life. Two other Bangladeshi poets are represented in the book. Fazal Shahabuddin’s poems are both cosmological and cosmopolitan, often sounding an elegiac note. Aminur Rahman is a young poet and translator whose work is innovative, meditative and experimental.

Several leading Hindi poets, such as the incomparable Gulzar, Sachchidananda Vatsyayan Ageya, who is one of the most prominent exponents of the Nayi Kavita (New Poetry) and Prayogvad (Experimentalism), Kaifi Azmi, Kunwar Narain, and others, add immeasurably to the overall tonality of the book and display what is best in contemporary Hindi and Urdu poetry by the older generation. Among the younger writers, Mangalesh Dabral’s poems show a mixture of the political, the existential and the urbane which resonates well with much contemporary poetry being written by English language Western poets. Anamika has five collections of poetry to her credit and over the years she has won numerous accolades for her literary work. Her poems in this collection include the philosophical Salt: “Salt is earth’s sorrow and its taste. / Earth’s three-fourths is brackish water, / and men’s heart a salt mountain.” She can also be fiercely political as in ‘Mobile Phone’:

Like the streets of old Baghdad
before the American heavy bombings —
I too am like that.
In me, adorned like old souks, meena bazaars —
like archaeological ruins in this metropolis’s heart.

II.

The second part of Aria deals with translations of poetry from East and West Asia, the Middle East and Europe starting with the delicate ‘Willow’ by the Korean poet Moon Chung Hee:

He etched blue flowers
on my arms —

Blue flowers
that tied

my skin, my whole body,
my spirit, and my life.

Avraham Ben Yitshak is translated from Hebrew by Sudeep Sen with Yehuda Amichai, Daniel Weissbort and others. His work shares many spiritual resonances with the classical Indian poets, especially when he touches on religion:

Tomorrow, stricken with the absence of words, we die;
And on that day, we shall stand at death’s gate.
As the heart celebrates the closeness to God,
It will do so, in joy and repentance, in fear of betrayal.

Sudeep Sen photo by Sara Bowman[1]Israeli poet Amir Or, Iranian poet Shirin Razavian, Icelandic poet Ditte Steensballe and Polish poet Ewa Sonnenberg add their own distinctive notes to the cosmopolitan texture. Of Macedonian poet Zoran Anchevski’s six poems, the most strikingly original is ‘halfVerses’ but I particularly liked ‘History’ which shows Minerva the owl at the end ‘resting at ease in its burrow / masticating, consuming its prey’; and the sustained menace of ‘My Little Me’: “When I fenced in my little me / and said to myself This is mine / It grew, / became my dictator — / handsome and greedy.” Another Macedonian poet, Petko Dabeski, in ‘Five Minutes’ uses the vernacular ‘What’s with those five minutes? / Whether they exist or not, they are just a puny five minutes’ to begin a monologue on time and humanity.

Spanish poet Sergio Claudio F. Lima uses Duchamp’s statement that ‘art is not a creative activity, but a means to expand consciousness’ to preface his poem, which is ‘The Body [of a Woman] Signifies’. A note tells us that this poem is a translation of the essential framework/content of the book, O Corpo Significa. The poem is made up of a sequence of terse statements or gnomic utterances that remind me of some of Allen Ginsberg’s Beat poetry

I. The sight of love is definitive.

II. The way of seeing is the way/an expression of being.

III. The doing is the development of thinking, of thought.

IV. The act of action circumscribes, and the sense opens the field of art.

As a member of both the Dadaist and Surrealist movements, Duchamp had a huge influence on the development of modern Western art and, although it is hard to judge this poem on its own without the context of the book for which it provides the ‘framework’, introducing Duchamp inevitably widens the spectrum and terms of reference of Aria and helps give the book its international edge.

In the last section ‘Postscript’, there are two English poems by Sen himself. The first, ‘Translating Poetry’ could stand as the epigraph for any book of translation, tracing, as it does, the process of creation and transposition with all its mysteries and technicalities. When the poem ends with the translator concluding that ‘A real poem defies translation, in every way’ he is selling himself short. In this superlative book of translations, Sen uses his gifts as a poet, linguist, cosmopolitan traveller and observer to conjure, in Coleridge’s phrase, the ‘best words in their best order.’ The result is a fine collection of poetry which takes the best from classical and modern traditions and integrates them into a stunning whole.

Oxford | Summer 2009

Jenny Lewis is a poet and playwright who has worked extensively in cross-arts performances. Read more on our Masthead.

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