Monday, June 18, 2007

Matt Hart reviews I'M THE MAN WHO LOVES YOU

Between the declarative first gesture of its title, and the final line of its final poem, Amy King’s second book I’m the Man Who Loves You is a-swirl in a tornado of mixing (but not mixed) messages. The book’s 60(!) poems, which are arranged alphabetically by title and with no section breaks, operate like transcriptions of satellite signals criss-crossing in the Vast. At their best, they’re compositions of bright ideas, music, and noise, resulting in (among other things) the deployment of form and content against one another to create tension, poetic texture, and (paraphrasing Apollinaire) the flare-up of multiple meanings in the flames of joy.

As a result, I’m the Man Who Loves You not only has guts and attitude, but achieves altitude (meta-tude) in its refusal to say the simple thing simply—which is (tracking from the title to the final poem), “I’m the man who loves you—Yes, you.” Thus, one might argue that “I love you” is the book’s fundamental operating system and thesis. And yet, of course, as with actual love, it’s complicated, but (also, as is often the case with/in actual love) it’s these complications that make it interesting, risky, and marvelous (that is, both love and the book itself) ...


--con't @ COLDFRONT MAG by Matt Hart.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Thomas Fink reviews I'M THE MAN WHO LOVES YOU

Curious about the rabbit hole that is my new book? Thomas Fink does some investigative reviewing over at Galatea Resurrects and finds a few more tunnels than predicted — in possibly one of his longest reviews yet! Even I’m still processing …

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Clips:

” … Does King utilize the poetic persona of a man who loves either another man or a woman? And how can we be so sure that ‘love’ signifies sexual love? ‘I’m the male father who loves you, my son or daughter’; ‘I’m the male mother (!) who loves you’; ‘I’m the son/male daughter who loves you, my mother or father’; ‘I’m the brother/male sister who loves you,’ etc…”

“…Perhaps King articulates respect for the integrity of the gap as it eludes assimilation into a narrative that defines, places, domesticates, and subordinates ‘qualities’ of absence to a presence that would presume to master desire. Another reading could be spun off the idea that ‘hole’ is a trope for the irreducibility of death, which always shadows ‘love,’ ‘loving,’ ‘fucking,’ spontaneity, etc…”

“…The phrase ‘crossover dress’ presents a particular social choice while simultaneously including a very legible trace of its opposite. If ‘we were meant’ to cater to a majority to gain popularity, ‘we’ could also defy mainstream authority with sartorial gender-bending. However, haven’t mass media and consumer culture already contextualized cross-dressing in ways that make it ‘cross over’ into normative cultural institutions, where oppositional possibilities are blunted? …”

“…Whether the ‘next apocalypse’ is a personal, interpersonal, or political crisis, it is debilitating enough that people may not want to take on the added burden of admitting to themselves that they are not ‘privately/ perfectly satisfied.’ However, sexual ‘restlessness’ becomes a symptom that is hard to ignore. King’s concluding line places her two slipperiest signifiers, ‘love’ and ‘hole,’ each of whose different possible meanings can be regarded as ‘inaccurately reconcilable,’ into the possibility of a reconciliation that lacks accuracy (’truth’ transcending ‘fictions’ of self- and other-fashioning) but, at least sometimes, ‘it must give pleasure,’ to re-cite Wallace Stevens …”

–from Galatea Resurrects by Thomas Fink

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Nick Piombino reviews I'M THE MAN WHO LOVES YOU

"King of The Brooklyn School"

Like the fabled NY School of old, Amy King's new *I'M THE MAN Who Loves You* (Blaze/Vox) is unafraid of the everyday, pausing to notice and respond to the presence of others and things, passing on the strained lyricism of soap opera surrealism. I don't know if this work is really a manifestation of an emerging school, but I did go to school immediately on its quick fencer's wit and steady, yet verbally lucious focus on the realities, pleasures and perplexities of ongoing experience. I can't help it, like Amy, I've fallen in love with the real world of things and people. How can she have mastered this so early, when for most, youth is wasted on the Jung and other inflated idealisms. It's not only a pleasure, but an actual relief to see daily moments become remarkable again without becoming either flaccid or hysterical. Don't screech at me, don't preach at me and please pass the breadsticks:

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[Continued on FAIT ACCOMPLI]