avril 01, 2017

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Self-important surrealism

Self-important surrealism

  … Few poets bring wit and seriousness together as happily as Mark Waldron in this, his third collection. The opening poem, “So I hid my song”, begins “in a disused shed” (presumably not in County Wexford). Only, “That’s not right, first I hid / my song in a tin, // and then the tin I hid in a sock, / and the sock in a shoebox, / and the shoebox in a hatbox”, and so on; “And now it is still not safe”. These are mostly conversational, cocksure poems, unspooling in neatened free verse stanzas. In subtler moments of politically tinged cleverness, Waldron manages at once to touch and […]