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thebeardedpoet's review against another edition
5.0
After reading this collection, I've decided Kevin Prufer is one of my favorite poets writing now. So many surprises! I love the oddity of the things personified, such as a heart attack or pills on a night stand. Repeatedly his poems imagine the experience of being dead, either as a corpse or being in the afterlife. I particularly loved where a deceased mother writes of the endless mall on the other side. It's wonderful how Prufer's poems bob and weave between what seem like actual personal experiences (a dying father) and surreal stories and landscapes (an infant encased in a snow covered car). As in Prufer's previous collection National Anthem I felt immersed in a dreamscape not unlike the one I discovered in Mark Strand's poetry. I'm sure I'll be reading EVERYTHING by Kevin Prufer.
sam8834's review against another edition
3.0
This was an enjoyable collection, though I found the poems to be very straightforward in style and story and therefore lacking in punch. Not to say that all poetry needs a punch, for many of these poems were impacting stories about death and loss. But the language here exhibits a plainness that makes the work less exciting than some of the other contemporary poetry I've been reading. Prufer is a great writer, no doubt, just not of much interest to me.
mezekial's review against another edition
4.0
I think the most accurate summary of this collection I can give is already provided by Prufer in the last poem of his book, appropriately titled "Postscript." Here is the last stanza:
Yes, I guess it's been a long day. I'm a little tired,
yes. The secretaries falling form the sky like cut-out angels
were just too much. So many wings cluttering the avenue.
Here are the poems I have gathered
and this is the receipt.
As witty and sardonic as he is vulnerable, Prufer establishes very clearly and very early on that we live in a country where angels fall like snow (or paper, or ash, or comets), upsetting neighbors and causing mild but annoying traffic delays on major downtown intersections. These are peppered (pun intended) between dead or dying paternal figures, a sarcastic and kerfuffled God, VHS action movie specials, singing missiles, and heaping amounts of snow. The psychic dissonance between this "Beautiful Country" and the actuality of living in it, a perspective which takes a layered approach more complex and entirely more rewarding than simple poetic satire, is tangible. Those looking to get their topical expat satire fix can still find a myriad of pleasure in the strange, historical gumbo Prufer has expertly cooked up, with seasonings of personal trauma and lost love to add more empathic ties to an occasionally grandstanded gesture of poetry. But the real pleasure that comes from reading this is how it builds a world not entirely unique to Prufer, one that seems emblematic of living in the World's Greatest Superpower while also providing shocking personal nuance. Burning horses; crumbling, childhood cities; newspapers that speak louder than people; these are apocalyptic times, indeed, and Prufer proves himself an adept narrator as we navigate his (but also our) beautiful country.
Yes, I guess it's been a long day. I'm a little tired,
yes. The secretaries falling form the sky like cut-out angels
were just too much. So many wings cluttering the avenue.
Here are the poems I have gathered
and this is the receipt.
As witty and sardonic as he is vulnerable, Prufer establishes very clearly and very early on that we live in a country where angels fall like snow (or paper, or ash, or comets), upsetting neighbors and causing mild but annoying traffic delays on major downtown intersections. These are peppered (pun intended) between dead or dying paternal figures, a sarcastic and kerfuffled God, VHS action movie specials, singing missiles, and heaping amounts of snow. The psychic dissonance between this "Beautiful Country" and the actuality of living in it, a perspective which takes a layered approach more complex and entirely more rewarding than simple poetic satire, is tangible. Those looking to get their topical expat satire fix can still find a myriad of pleasure in the strange, historical gumbo Prufer has expertly cooked up, with seasonings of personal trauma and lost love to add more empathic ties to an occasionally grandstanded gesture of poetry. But the real pleasure that comes from reading this is how it builds a world not entirely unique to Prufer, one that seems emblematic of living in the World's Greatest Superpower while also providing shocking personal nuance. Burning horses; crumbling, childhood cities; newspapers that speak louder than people; these are apocalyptic times, indeed, and Prufer proves himself an adept narrator as we navigate his (but also our) beautiful country.
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