Griet Hannay, 8 Little Curtain Rings, (Strasbourg: Ed. de Carnard, 1989), 16pp.
A psychotropic longhouse becomes the locus for this eminent rehash. Its structure is cantilevered thus, so the balcony’s long shadow bunches at my throat. The entrance is a revolving door, a kind of promiscuous lock. Inside many young Belgians bodypop their continental ennui.
This becomes a poetry of lampposts, dogwalkers, poplars, theodolytes, bus stops, municipal statues and radio masts. All the lonely civil spikes. Here is everything to do with comfort, acoustics, light and shade. I was magnificently bored.
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This review was previously published in Openned. You can read other reviews by James Wilkes there, and at Intercapillary Space and Readings (here and here). James Wilkes is currently involved in Interior Traces, which will be on Resonance FM soon.
1 comment:
This is my favourite of Jamie's review poems.
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