"Soul Data is rarely compounded—of wit and music, surface elegance and intellectual depth, quirk and quandary. Its sensual intelligence is on high alert, and the sheer unsheerness of its language—all its densities and textures—is a linguiphiliacal delight. Unmistakeably American (the poetry’s occasions and its cadences alike serve for signature) it has the jinx-meister’s humors about it. There’s a dark streak, too, an eye for the natural indifferences that border the spotlit human heats. A fine rhetorical savvy, in a mind inclined to the chillier depths: among poetic gifts these days it’s an uncommon conjunction, a gift of mysteries, like the sight (across a night pond’s surface) of bright-blue shooting star: one hopes the other humans get to see it."—Heather McHugh
V [Linoleum]
South of Spokane Street, a gear works
turns its teeth—shadows in a cavern,
through the cycles of a drop-forge piston,
heft themselves and recoil in a dark
rain of sparks, the echo off the blocks—
pa-tang!—arriving late, repeats itself again,
a ceaseless, a remorseless hammering home,
a point made and lost in the patterns of work.
Across the street, a hunkered stretch of houses,
swing sets and cyclone fencing, a clatch of cars.
The agent shrugs—"It’s zoned Residential/
Light Industrial"—pa-tong! A lunatic fringe
of gladiolus fronts the walkways and the rows
of empty rooms we roll by at low idle.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
Loads of sonnets and villanelles make up this first volume, the winner of an award honoring the late Vassar Miller, who shares nothing in common with Svenvolds irregularly rhymed verse. Not an object or language poet per se, Svenvold often sacrifices sense to sound, though its not clear if his obscurities are deliberate. A long sonnet sequence, Death of the Cabaret Hegel, celebrates a Seattle performance space in an old factory situated at the continents edge, where everything is all echo and rain. Eventually demolished for a freeway, the scene it leaves behind boasts the glories of mixed zoning and thrift-shop hunting. Three later poems fail to capture the tone or textures of their subject, Thelonious Monk (who supposedly taught us a lesson in liberty); Svenvold seems more at home with the 60s nihilism of the Doors (Variation on Themes by The Doors). The poet establishes his working-class bona fides in poems about a garage during the day (Work) and during the Graveyard Shift. Svenvolds sense of irony fails to illumine poems about his parents dying, even though theyre buried near Jimi Hendrix. Such found facts and a tendency to burst into pseudo-profundity (you cannot connect) suggest artistic immaturity, though there are glimmers of talent here, too. -- Copyright ©1998, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
Seller: Grand Eagle Retail, Bensenville, IL, U.S.A.
Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. "Soul Data is rarely compounded--of wit and music, surface elegance and intellectual depth, quirk and quandary. Its sensual intelligence is on high alert, and the sheer unsheerness of its language--all its densities and textures--is a linguiphiliacal delight. Unmistakeably American (the poetry's occasions and its cadences alike serve for signature) it has the jinx-meister's humors about it. There's a dark streak, too, an eye for the natural indifferences that border the spotlit human heats. A fine rhetorical savvy, in a mind inclined to the chillier depths: among poetic gifts these days it's an uncommon conjunction, a gift of mysteries, like the sight (across a night pond's surface) of bright-blue shooting star: one hopes the other humans get to see it."--Heather McHughV [Linoleum]South of Spokane Street, a gear works turns its teeth--shadows in a cavern, through the cycles of a drop-forge piston, heft themselves and recoil in a dark rain of sparks, the echo off the blocks-- pa-tang!--arriving late, repeats itself again, a ceaseless, a remorseless hammering home, a point made and lost in the patterns of work. Across the street, a hunkered stretch of houses, swing sets and cyclone fencing, a clatch of cars. The agent shrugs--"It's zoned Residential/ Light Industrial"--pa-tong! A lunatic fringe of gladiolus fronts the walkways and the rows of empty rooms we roll by at low idle. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9781574410464
Seller: The Haunted Bookshop, LLC, Iowa City, IA, U.S.A.
Paperback. Condition: Fine. Stated First Edition; First Printing. Crisp, bright, clean; no owners' marks; as new. viii, 59pp. Winner of the Vassar Miller Prize in Poetry. Seller Inventory # 00091812
Seller: Rick's Books NYC, New York, NY, U.S.A.
Soft cover. Condition: Very Good. 1st Edition. Univ of North Texas Pr, 1998 Very good Mark Svenvold. Inscribed by Author(s). Seller Inventory # 879233118
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Soft cover. Condition: Near Fine. 1st Edition. Clean, unmarked copy with solid, crease-free spine. BP/Poetry. Seller Inventory # ABE-1666547730935
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Condition: New. Num Pages: 59 pages. BIC Classification: DCF. Category: (G) General (US: Trade). Dimension: 231 x 156 x 6. Weight in Grams: 132. . 2006. First Edition. paperback. . . . . Books ship from the US and Ireland. Seller Inventory # V9781574410464
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Seller: Kennys Bookshop and Art Galleries Ltd., Galway, GY, Ireland
Condition: New. Num Pages: 59 pages. BIC Classification: DCF. Category: (G) General (US: Trade). Dimension: 231 x 156 x 6. Weight in Grams: 132. . 2006. First Edition. paperback. . . . . Seller Inventory # V9781574410464
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Seller: AussieBookSeller, Truganina, VIC, Australia
Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. "Soul Data is rarely compounded--of wit and music, surface elegance and intellectual depth, quirk and quandary. Its sensual intelligence is on high alert, and the sheer unsheerness of its language--all its densities and textures--is a linguiphiliacal delight. Unmistakeably American (the poetry's occasions and its cadences alike serve for signature) it has the jinx-meister's humors about it. There's a dark streak, too, an eye for the natural indifferences that border the spotlit human heats. A fine rhetorical savvy, in a mind inclined to the chillier depths: among poetic gifts these days it's an uncommon conjunction, a gift of mysteries, like the sight (across a night pond's surface) of bright-blue shooting star: one hopes the other humans get to see it."--Heather McHughV [Linoleum]South of Spokane Street, a gear works turns its teeth--shadows in a cavern, through the cycles of a drop-forge piston, heft themselves and recoil in a dark rain of sparks, the echo off the blocks-- pa-tang!--arriving late, repeats itself again, a ceaseless, a remorseless hammering home, a point made and lost in the patterns of work. Across the street, a hunkered stretch of houses, swing sets and cyclone fencing, a clatch of cars. The agent shrugs--"It's zoned Residential/ Light Industrial"--pa-tong! A lunatic fringe of gladiolus fronts the walkways and the rows of empty rooms we roll by at low idle. Shipping may be from our Sydney, NSW warehouse or from our UK or US warehouse, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9781574410464
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