From Publishers Weekly
As a frequent reviewer for the New Republic and the New York Times, Adam Kirsch is one of the most visible of young poetry critics, but he also practices what he critiques. His debut collection, The Thousand Wells, won the New Criterion's Poetry Prize, and features 31 rhymed stanzaic lyrics in a diction elevated and hortatory-but not above humor. If Lowell was tamed by Miltown, Kirsch's "Zoloft" imagines "misery/ Will take its place with polio and plague.../ While madness and possession, shame and sin/ Survive, like the humors or astrology,/ To make us smile at errors that have been,/ Or figures to adorn our poetry."
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Kirsch's first collection has only one unrhymed poem and no free-metered--or bad--poems in it. Its four parts contain poems of, respectively, the seasons in the city, history and heritage, love, and reflection. Regardless of subject and tone, these are, because of their forms, poems of wit. The eight-line stanzas (an Italian sonnet's sestet plus a rhymed couplet) of "A Love Letter" inhibit plainly saying "I love you" but facilitate an inquisitive and devotional anthem on love worthy of the seventeenth-century metaphysical poets, who are sometimes scolded for being too witty. Each quatrain of the ballad "Irresponsible Foetus," whose theme is unintended pregnancy, essays a light, rueful dance that in the fourth line trips on hard reality. The long-measure quatrains of "The Chosen People" perfectly balance the poem's conceit that the moon is to the earth as the Jews are to the rest of humanity; the lines' syllabic equivalence holds both sides of the analogy deftly aloft. The other poems afford similar pleasures of matter married to manner.
Ray OlsonCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved