Widening Income Inequality
Poems
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- $16.99
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- $16.99
Publisher Description
“One of the world’s most inspired and unusual poets . . . [Seidel’s] poems are a triumph of cosmic awe in the face of earthly terror.” —Hillel Italie, USA Today
Frederick Seidel has been called many things. A “transgressive adventurer,” “a demonic gentleman,” a “triumphant outsider,” “a great poet of innocence,” and “an example of the dangerous Male of the Species,” just to name a few. Whatever you choose to call him, one thing is certain: “he radiates heat” (The New Yorker).
Now add to that: the poet of aging and decrepitude.
Widening Income Inequality, Seidel’s new poetry collection, is a rhymed magnificence of sexual, historical, and cultural exuberance, a sweet and bitter fever of Robespierre and Obamacare and Apollinaire, of John F. Kennedy and jihadi terror and New York City and Italian motorcycles. Rarely has poetry been this true, this dapper, or this dire. Seidel is “the most poetic of the poets and their leader into hell.”
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The old dog repeats the same tricks in this latest collection from Seidel (Nice Weather). While something can be said for Seidel's varied form, what stands out is his penchant for rhyme, irregular rhythm, and long, sprawling lines. For example, in "Man in Slicker," the poet states, "He's hidden in a slicker, so he's yellow, obvious./ A rainy day on Broadway looks like Auschwitz, more or less." If Seidel is aiming for irony, he never really seems to hit the mark, and for all his attempts to relate to current events and 21st-century pop culture, his upper-crust allusions to fine dining, Patek Philippe watches, Ducati motorcycles, and trips to Montauk, N.Y., speak louder than the line "I wouldn't want to be a black man in St. Louis County" in the hackneyed poem "The Ballad of Ferguson, Missouri." Similarly, one could read the poem "Hip-Hop" as a strained satire of hip-hop culture, but it's so completely out of touch that it seems to miss any point entirely. "Girls in short shorts/ Saunter by on platform heels, misting the air with particles," he writes. "Dogs on their leashes are yodeling and will be walked and/ Girls with their breasts are ululating/ And won't be stalked." Seidel might think he's being clever, but his work is a mess.
