Mishehu's Reviews > Fast: Poems
Fast: Poems
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Simpleton that I am, it seems all I can do is gaze upon the works of the literati and wonder. Or cock an eyebrow. Or jeer a bit...
The poetry reviewer for the NYTimes bethought him- or herself to describe Fast as a book that "explodes[!]" the "feel-good myth of American democracy," one that (cue breathlessness) is about the "nature of social life in the 21st century, a book in which past and future unfold in 'every cell' across the vast space of a few words." The reviewer for the London Magazine was literally "swept off [his/her] feet" by the "passionate and overwhelming nature of Graham's undertaking."
Passionate maybe. Incoherent definitely. If Fast 'explodes' anything it's the myth that obscurity = profundity and that poetic talent is obviously to be found in the Ivies' hallowed halls. Far from sweeping this reader off his feet, Fast alternately confused, tired, and annoyed me. If the poems in this collection had anything at all to do with the myth of American democracy, feel-good or otherwise, you got me. Happy to display my profound ignorance to all professional (paid-per-word) and passionate amateur reviewers and cop to the fact that I could barely make sense of any of the poetry in Fast. And I fast lost interest in trying to.
For all the wordplay, the gimmicky typesetting, and the opacity in this book -- owing to the obvious effort it took to create and the fact that it is, I'm sure, a labor of writerly love, I grudgingly award a second star. But I can't really imagine who the intended reader of Fast is. Whatever JG's intent in writing this book, Ecco's in publishing it, and the Timeses of the world in gushingly reviewing it -- Fast strikes me as a colossally pretentious, solipsistic and turgid piece of work. It couldn't have impressed me less.
The poetry reviewer for the NYTimes bethought him- or herself to describe Fast as a book that "explodes[!]" the "feel-good myth of American democracy," one that (cue breathlessness) is about the "nature of social life in the 21st century, a book in which past and future unfold in 'every cell' across the vast space of a few words." The reviewer for the London Magazine was literally "swept off [his/her] feet" by the "passionate and overwhelming nature of Graham's undertaking."
Passionate maybe. Incoherent definitely. If Fast 'explodes' anything it's the myth that obscurity = profundity and that poetic talent is obviously to be found in the Ivies' hallowed halls. Far from sweeping this reader off his feet, Fast alternately confused, tired, and annoyed me. If the poems in this collection had anything at all to do with the myth of American democracy, feel-good or otherwise, you got me. Happy to display my profound ignorance to all professional (paid-per-word) and passionate amateur reviewers and cop to the fact that I could barely make sense of any of the poetry in Fast. And I fast lost interest in trying to.
For all the wordplay, the gimmicky typesetting, and the opacity in this book -- owing to the obvious effort it took to create and the fact that it is, I'm sure, a labor of writerly love, I grudgingly award a second star. But I can't really imagine who the intended reader of Fast is. Whatever JG's intent in writing this book, Ecco's in publishing it, and the Timeses of the world in gushingly reviewing it -- Fast strikes me as a colossally pretentious, solipsistic and turgid piece of work. It couldn't have impressed me less.
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Reading Progress
April 9, 2019
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April 9, 2019
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April 9, 2019
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Robin
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Apr 10, 2019 10:31AM

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