Customer Reviews

David Shapiro: New and Selected Poems, 1965-2006

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I think "New and Selected Poems" is a wonderful collection that does justice to Shapiro's work. The book presents him in his fullness as a poet. Reading it was like spending a lifetime with his mind; I went with him through years. This is not just because I know the old poems so well and they are so old, but also because the selections preserve the sense and power of the individual books, so that it is like reading the books themselves. It is an amazing feat. It was, in any case, deeply rewarding and enjoyable to see the old favorites, starting with "Canticle" #1, and to become absorbed in some of the long poems I had or hadn't seen before. Long formal pieces like "The Devil's Trill Sonata" have room to breathe in this book, whose length I enjoyed. I am flat-out in awe of the sestina on p. 151. "To an Idea" is a book I hadn't seen, and it was wonderful to discover the "Index of First Lines," to take only one example. The selection from "Poems from Deal" is a good example of how well Shapiro has constructed and arranged these selections; where "Master Canterel at Locus Solus, "Elegy to Sports," and "Ode" appeared in that order in the book, now they work as a terrific sequence, and "Ode" still provides the strong ending it gave the book. I was very moved by the poems on his mother's death. The poems that might seem difficult to read work perfectly with each other, casting a clarity over his work like some kind of brilliant shadow. I always saw the Rimbaud in him, but now I see much better the Mallarmé. He has put down the poems in spite of the page's defending its whiteness, and their clarity is rigorous and moving. One interesting thing about the series of poems is the way they pick up lines and themes from each other ("Here, their passports are taken away from them" recurring on p. 85, the eraser fluid, Goofy). So the selection works as a linear series but also as a complex in which the poems reflect each other, and beyond that it works as a reimagining and condensation of the original form of each book. There is so much power in these poems, individually and seen together, that I lack the words to convey my solid admiration for his career and for his achievement in the new book. I always knew he was a great poet, but now I see it much more clearly.

I read an internet interview of David Shapiro once. After a reading, a woman accosted him: "Your poetry isn't worth Milton's big toe!" (or something along those lines). But I couldn't disagree more. I think within her comment lies a frustration with Shapiro's refusal to conform to any one idea, theme, or sequence of events - but many, and so many that initially his poetry can seem jumbled or confused. It took me a while to realize that Shapiro's world is that of the non-linear, and often symbolic thought patterns we form - from the "subconscious" mind.

Once this was understood, I didn't approach each poem with the impulse to at first situate myself in a particular environment or scene. Rather, I simply relaxed that "need" and let myself slip into a kind of reverie, and THAT is where the voice and power of this truly great poet takes the stage.

I must admit that I prefer it when his stanzas are bare, and each well-constructed phrase becomes a slow and startling overlay. But throughout this entire book, Shapiro's amazing and subtle wit, his lucid and dream-like connections will haunt you - if you let them - for years to come.

Shapiro also has an amazing ear. Moreover, he so often gives us the voluptuous and sublime - side by side! I'll end this review with one of his own lines: "Be mute for me contemplative violin."

Poet David Shapiro (1947 to the present, fortunately) is an unjustly obscured voice in American poetry. First published at age 18 (author of the first monograph on John Ashbery, the first book on Jim Dine's paintings, the first book on Piet Mondrian's flower studies, and the first book on Jasper Johns' drawings) he is one of our most profoundly *fun and serious* poets. His poetry reflects a humorous, compassionate, and Kafkaesque view of the world without ever falling too much into any of it's single attributes--the crystallized individuation of a visionary.

This collection contains 266 poems from his debut "January" to his most recent work. Why David Shapiro hasn't received the recognition he deserves is puzzling, since he seems to have been the forerunner for so very much and is indeed a lifeforce all his own. I don't for one instant believe that Eluard or Desnos woud have found themselves out of company with Shapiro as evidenced by his prescient, mysterious poem "Book of Glass": "On the table, a book of glass/In the book only a few pages with no words/But scratched in a diamond-point pencil to pieces in diagonal/Spirals, light triangles; and a French curve fractures lines to elisions."

Shapiro's body of work is a statement of that Elsewhere Rimbaud spoke of; a willingness to experiment not just for experiment's sake, but for the joy of words. He sticks out quite squarely as a singular poet even within the context of "the Postmodern NY School", whatever that really means. This collection and his earlier works are a must for any lover of convulsive beauty, or poetry in general.