Four paper dolls hold hands like a family. They are cut from a morning newspaper that runs an ad for "heavenly" coffee next to a picture from a war zone. On television, refugees are crowding a road, while on the pay-per-view channel lovers are trading hungry kisses and tearing off each other's clothes. In his new volume of poems, Pulitzer Prize ...
Four paper dolls hold hands like a family. They are cut from a morning newspaper that runs an ad for "heavenly" coffee next to a picture from a war zone. On television, refugees are crowding a road, while on the pay-per-view channel lovers are trading hungry kisses and tearing off each other's clothes. In his new volume of poems, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles Simic juxtaposes the joys of the everyday - the unabashed pleasure of sex, the beauty of nature - against a haunting landscape of shattered windows, soldiers on the march, stray dogs, homeless men, and a God still making up His mind.
Good. 1994-Paperback-Used-Good--Shows some shelf-wear. May contain old price stickers or their residue, inscriptions or dedications from previous owners in first few pages and remainder marks.-. -Hall Street Books proudly ships from Brooklyn, NY. All orders are processed and shipped within 24 business hours, Mon-Fri. Expedited shipping and tracking available within the US. Hall Street's No-Worry guarantee lets you buy with confidence!
Good. Very minimal damage to the cover no holes or tears, only minimal scuff marks minimal wear binding majority of pages undamaged minimal creases or tears. Book may have writing, underlining, highlighting, wear to cover and corners, notes in margins, writing.
Fair. Good copy for reading, may have heavy page wear with writing textual notes highlighting or be an heavily used ex library copy with library markings, stickers or stamps. Dust jacket or accessories may not be included.
Publishers Weekly, 1994-10-31 The world according to Simic (Hotel Insomnia) has never been an especially nice place, and his new collection of poems registers no signs of improvement. Urban decay, war and the depravities of false priests and corrupt rulers provide the occasions for much of this work, where private desperation is seen to be our lot and any respite momentary, at best. The knack of Simic's poetry is to have found a voice to reflect on such matters without sounding solemn or maudlin-a plainspoken, slightly wary voice that wins our confidence by its apparent modesty and our gratitude by its power to surprise, accommodating cynicism and injured outcries. Still, nothing that Simic says, however humanly concerned, is without the salt of irony, sometimes heavily applied. Even his approach to poetic form has become ironic: surrealist images, used to startling effect in his early books, are now more commonly deployed as near clichTs, persuading us there's nothing new under the sun; individual poems have a self-consciously throwaway quality, as if to advise us that they are no better than anything else. And yet Simic's poetry comforts and (ironically) charms us, too, even as it insists that it is only ``like the wind/ Between the cold winter stars./ A creaky door/ Way out in the darkness./ Some kind of small bird/ Trapped by a cat/ And calling on heaven to witness.'' (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
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