MEANWHILE, SHOULD I ATTEND ONCE MORE TO FOUCAULT?
[The Light...is less a book of poetry than a complex: a virtual, almost accidental honeycomb where disparate forces converge and thrive without necessarily coalescing into a stable structure."
--Fred Muratori, American Book Review
And if that excerpt doesn't intrigue, how's about this:
"No doubt many readers will be appalled..."
Chuckle. Anyway, viz Anny, I discover that Fred Muratori reviews The Light Sang As It Left Your Eyes in the new issue of AMERICAN BOOK REVIEW.
Fred's review -- and Anny's review of the BRICK in Jacket -- make me notice again how often philosophers are cited in the more in-depth reviews of my books: Foucault, Bakhtin, Derrida, Barthes....thank Gawd Muratori also mentioned Coleridge...
The irony is that while I believe I have all these philosophers' books, and indeedy recall cracking open some Barthes and Foucault and Derrida some years back, I'm a philosophy drop-out (in a philosophical move, I traded in philosophy for political science at Barnard...) and, cough, have left the distinct majority of their pages unread. I frankly bought a lot of these books under the grim self-chastisement: "I should read these books because everyone keeps dropping their names...". Now, whenever another reviewer mentions (some of) these philosophers, I cast a sort of guilty look over at the philosophers all dusty on moi bookshelves -- what is it with me that I'd rather ignore them for ... the murder mysteries?
Whatever. I think you should read Muratori's review and not just because it's complimentary to Moi. I think he got Moi at "Hello", to wit the first sentence:
"Who is the author of The Light Sang As It Left Your Eyes?"
Well, the author would be Moi....but since Moi is all about Toi, that doesn't really answer the question for those still stuck in the swamp of fixed identities, eh? (Yo, this Pinay asks, How can you kill the Author if you can't identify hir?)
IMPORTANT P.S. Thank you, Fred Muratori and Anny Ballardini -- the kind of attention you've given to my poems are rare and what poets dream of. You make her and my dreams come true....