Winter Driving Best Books of the Month Men's Leather Watches Learn more nav_sap_SWP_6M_fly_beacon $5 Albums Explore Home Audio All-New Amazon Fire TV Subscribe & Save Valentine's Day Cards Knock snow out cold Amazon Gift Card Offer girls2 girls2 girls2  Amazon Echo All-New Fire Kindle Paperwhite Shop Now SnS

Customer Reviews

5.0 out of 5 stars2
5 star
100%
4 star
0%
3 star
0%
2 star
0%
1 star
0%
Format: PaperbackChange
Price:$13.45+ Free shipping with Amazon Prime

Your rating(Clear)Rate this item
Share your thoughts with other customers

There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.

Few readers will be able to digest Paul Siegell's spectacular collection of poetic variations on the first reading. Siegell demands intelligence from his audience and the payback for spending time with this artist is measured in days not minutes of excitement. Some 'avant garde' poets seem content to startle, to rattle the confines of convention, and while Paul Siegell most assuredly accomplishes both of these facets of contemporary poetry, his ploughing of the field of language is far richer and far more satisfying.

Siegell plays with words, with punctuation, and with the placement of lines on a page in an almost game-like fashion - except each game always has a purpose, a decidedly pointed end that is at times startling and at other times full of emotional response: a poem may have two columns, one in regular type, the other in italics, and it is up to the reader to open the conundrum the writer intends. It takes time to read these poems, but the rewards are many.

His topics range from hilarious common occurrences to political meanderings to reflections on the universe or global malcontent.
*AMERICA STOP HONKING I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING*

upon yawning commute for the 9 AM - the reluctance
of a realworldolescent - nearly a hundred birds: a species

small and gray, urban, name unknown to knowledge,
swooped about in unison above the still, accepted wait

at light of red: finally

something natural, worthwhile, introducing change
to my mundane: flight school, artwork in open air.

swift, wheeling maneuvers behind each unidentifiable
and momentary leader, anonymous but for milliseconds:

the decision-maker switches every time direction does -
the useful beauty of anyone initiating a new acrobatic,

no matter how ephemeral.

in the light of which, overwhelming the well, feeling
lately like I've been typing into a typewriter without paper,

never wanted a light to stay reed so bad before in all my life.

Or his humor continues in a different vein:
*GLOBAL WARMING*

got the hots
for an
Inuit - think
I should
email her
igloo?

And at times Siegell seems to be content to play with words for the sake of playing or challenging us, until he places a poem like this out of the blue:
*POEMBALMED*

Gravity
never rests.

Skeletons
spring gardens.

Grave

is
that which is

alive.

An Adam's
apple
shows

a swallow.

It lifts
for eyes, then
falls

for Newton.

Perception
is choice.

Ev'rything's
interim.

And just when the reader new to Siegell's magic thinks 'aha!', then the poet ends his collection with an extended bit of brilliance in *THE BROKEN BONES OF OCTOBER 27th* - one of the more rhapsodic, drug-like illusory recounting of a serious injury and the events and thoughts surrounding it we're likely to find in contemporary poetry. Yes, Paul Siegell demands much of his reader, but the rewards are plentiful! Grady Harp, June 10
0Comment1 of 1 people found this helpful. Was this review helpful to you?YesNoReport abuse
Few readers will be able to digest Paul Siegell's spectacular collection of poetic variations on the first reading. Siegell demands intelligence from his audience and the payback for spending time with this artist is measured in days not minutes of excitement. Some 'avant garde' poets seem content to startle, to rattle the confines of convention, and while Paul Siegell most assuredly accomplishes both of these facets of contemporary poetry, his ploughing of the field of language is far richer and far more satisfying.

Siegell plays with words, with punctuation, and with the placement of lines on a page in an almost game-like fashion - except each game always has a purpose, a decidedly pointed end that is at times startling and at other times full of emotional response: a poem may have two columns, one in regular type, the other in italics, and it is up to the reader to open the conundrum the writer intends. It takes time to read these poems, but the rewards are many.

His topics range from hilarious common occurrences to political meanderings to reflections on the universe or global malcontent.
*AMERICA STOP HONKING I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING*

upon yawning commute for the 9 AM - the reluctance
of a realworldolescent - nearly a hundred birds: a species

small and gray, urban, name unknown to knowledge,
swooped about in unison above the still, accepted wait

at light of red: finally

something natural, worthwhile, introducing change
to my mundane: flight school, artwork in open air.

swift, wheeling maneuvers behind each unidentifiable
and momentary leader, anonymous but for milliseconds:

the decision-maker switches every time direction does -
the useful beauty of anyone initiating a new acrobatic,

no matter how ephemeral.

in the light of which, overwhelming the well, feeling
lately like I've been typing into a typewriter without paper,

never wanted a light to stay reed so bad before in all my life.

Or his humor continues in a different vein:
*GLOBAL WARMING*

got the hots
for an
Inuit - think
I should
email her
igloo?

And at times Siegell seems to be content to play with words for the sake of playing or challenging us, until he places a poem like this out of the blue:
*POEMBALMED*

Gravity
never rests.

Skeletons
spring gardens.

Grave

is
that which is

alive.

An Adam's
apple
shows

a swallow.

It lifts
for eyes, then
falls

for Newton.

Perception
is choice.

Ev'rything's
interim.

And just when the reader new to Siegell's magic thinks 'aha!', then the poet ends his collection with an extended bit of brilliance in *THE BROKEN BONES OF OCTOBER 27th* - one of the more rhapsodic, drug-like illusory recounting of a serious injury and the events and thoughts surrounding it we're likely to find in contemporary poetry. Yes, Paul Siegell demands much of his reader, but the rewards are plentiful! Grady Harp, June 09
0Comment1 of 1 people found this helpful. Was this review helpful to you?YesNoReport abuse

Send us feedback

How can we make Amazon Customer Reviews better for you?
Let us know here.