From Publishers Weekly
The Savage Detectives, the best-known novel by the Chilean-born Bolaño (1953–2003) recently found spectacular success across the English-speaking world, bringing much attention to his other work. Now comes a very competently rendered bilingual selection of his fiery, if sometimes uncontrolled, verse. Bolaño began as a poet, and some of the work here seems to have come from an extraordinarily young man: a record of stormy, untamed teen emotion—the depths of despair (From these nightmares I'll retain only/ these poor houses) or the heights of sexual adventures. Bolaño moves easily into a blend of surrealism and populism, with in-your-face gestures learned perhaps from Pablo Neruda, as when he watches a trail of nurses and a trail of scorpions wending their ways home. Other poems are closely tied to
The Savage Detectives: Bolaño's dreamt motorcycle journey in The Donkey, mirroring the life of the real poet Mario Santiago, will send readers back to the fictionalized portrayals of Bolaño and Santiago (Arturo and Ulises) in the novel. Bolaño the poet's deliberate immaturity/ And splendors glimpsed on another planet can delight: they echo his brilliant but out-of-control authorial persona, with its high-speed, self-conscious verbal play, and those echoes will be more than enough to lead fans of his prose straight to his verse.
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From Booklist
The fiction of Chile-born, Mexico-dwelling Bolaño (1953–2003) has been embraced the world over, igniting talk of a cult following. His acclaimed novel The Savage Detectives (2007) portrays two poets, and Bolaño saw himself as a poet first and foremost. “Poetry is braver than anyone,” writes Bolaño, literary brother to Charles Simic. A survivor of political persecution and exile, Bolaño composed with tender clarity darkly lyrical dispatches from a land of assassins and vigilantes, haunting poems meant to exorcise menace and mayhem. Tormented detectives facing “hideous crimes” serve as envoys between the painfully sensuous world and the transcendent sphere of feeling, memory, and dream as Bolaño writes of persecuted homosexuals, the sorrows of women intimate with beauty and terror, guns, dogs, and “savage trees.” In poems that unscroll like black-and-white movies or occupy the page like a tattoo, art and life entwine, and all is sinister and precious. With more translated novels soon to be published, the Bolaño effect will remain a potent force. --Donna Seaman
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