From Publishers Weekly
After a heyday in the 18th century, a spectacular series of Romantic and Victorian contortions and a brief revival in the hands of W.H. Auden, the philosophical essay-in-verse has died in our century and left only its ghost to haunt the lyric. In this brilliant long poem, Bricuth (aka Johns Hopkins critic John Irwin) has more fun with the cadaver than is seemly or moral, adapting a late-middle-aged, Midwestern, Jehovah-like persona (named "Sir") who uses the pretext of a press conference with three reporters ("Bird," "Fox" and "Fish") to sound off, in a fine parody of Frost at his cheesiest, on the State of the Universe at century's end. Taking up one after another the received consolations of the age in response to the animals' Big Questions (What is truth? What is the good life? "'Ah, Sir, did you have to kill the children?'" etc.), the crass, sadistic Sir quashes each glimmer of rational hope, to his own delight and their despair. It's "The Mr. Bill Show" in blank verse tercets, "On the Vanity of Human Wishes" updated by Richard Rorty on a bad trip and Browning's Setebos come to life, full of learned references and mock-instructive fables in the Augustan manner. Which is to say, Bricuth's poem is very funny; it's also surprisingly, embarrassingly sad, a convincing account of the pain we pretend is wisdom. (Sept.) FYI: Just Let Me Say This About That is the first volume in Overlook's Sewanee Writers' Series.
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From Kirkus Reviews
A second collection by the alter ego of John Irwin, the Johns Hopkins humanities professor and author of a few critical studies of American Literature (The Mystery to a Solution, etc.), inaugurates a new series co-published with the Sewanee writers conference and subsidized by the estate of Tennessee Williams. Bricuths book-length narrative poem intends to instruct and delight in true classical fashion, but organizes itself as a press conference, that most timely form of communication. The interrogated Sir, part statesman, part entertainer, part patriarch, and partly divine, tries to answer the existential questions posed by Fish, Bird, and Fox, who seek a code of how to be/ And what to do. The opening shots begin with a barrage of Joycean riffs, a sonorous binge of alliteration and rhyme that ill prepares the reader for Sirs wry bonhomie, his chatty means of evading their urgent queries with slow parable, extended sports metaphors, and frank language, which all draw on a wealth of popular and literary imagery and allusion. Bricuths virtuoso performance never sags, even if it never rises to Olympian heightsthe section suggesting that Every Jobs just another Joe to Sir best articulates his grim truths about the sour rag of the self and his millennial dread. With wit and considerable wisdom throughout this always-engaging poem, Bricuth clings to the occasional surprise by joya tonic for anxious times. --
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