Identify Of Books Poems
| Title | : | Poems |
| Author | : | J.H. Prynne |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Deluxe Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 590 pages |
| Published | : | January 1st 2006 by Fremantle Arts Centre Press (first published May 1st 1982) |
| Categories | : | Poetry. European Literature. British Literature |
J.H. Prynne
Paperback | Pages: 590 pages Rating: 4.41 | 109 Users | 9 Reviews
Ilustration During Books Poems
J.H. Prynne is Britain's leading late Modernist poet. His austere yet playful poetry challenges our sense of the world, not by any direct address to the reader but by showing everything in a different light, enacting slips and changes of meaning through shifting language. When his Poems was first published in 1999, it was immediately acclaimed as a landmark in modern poetry. This expanded edition includes four later collections only previously available in limited editions.
Define Books Toward Poems
| Original Title: | Poems |
| ISBN: | 1852246561 (ISBN13: 9781852246563) |
| Edition Language: | English |
Rating Of Books Poems
Ratings: 4.41 From 109 Users | 9 ReviewsRate Of Books Poems
Strange, lyrical poetry that beguiles as much as it enchants.I've barely scratched the surface here, but holy-moly, this is some shit.
Just dip, don't cover-to-cover. Absolutely bloody brilliant poetry. But it's also absolutely bloody difficult poetry if you're not careful. Don't stop on the path expecting to go from A to B, step on the path to admire the passing rose bushes muttering amongst themselves. Let it take you, don't try and take it.A book that's never finished.
Pink star of the languid/ settles by a low window/ lap to fit, give the life/ too quickly, the storm/ a mere leveled gaze.
The path clears/by the use it gets.
...the ethereal language of love inbrilliant suspense between us and thehesitant arc. Yet I need it too and keepone hand in my pocket & one in yours,waiting for the first snow of the year.
"Whose Dust Did You SayHow old how far & how much the years tear at us the shreds of cloth asI think of them and the great palaceswith courts & the sounds of mirthmerriment in the darkness within thegreat dream of the night. I live stillwith the bitter habits of that fire &disdain I live in it surrounded bylittle else who can impair or boundthat empire of destined habitationor go off into that coyly drab townby slow stages or by any other damnthing else who can who would wastehis
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