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Siken Richard

Crush

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Richard Siken’s Crush, selected as the 2004 winner of the Yale Younger Poets prize, is a powerful collection of poems driven by obsession and love. Siken writes with ferocity, and his reader hurtles unstoppably with him. His poetry is confessional, gay, savage, and charged with violent eroticism. In the world of American poetry, Siken's voice is striking.In her introduction to the book, competition judge Louise Glück hails the “cumulative, driving, apocalyptic power, [and] purgatorial recklessness” of Siken’s poems. She notes, “Books of this kind dream big. … They restore to poetry that sense of crucial moment and crucial utterance which may indeed be the great genius of the form.”
Review«Vital, immediate, and cinematic in scope, [Siken's] verse offers sharply observed vignettes of longing, love, and pain.»—Library Journal (Best Poetry of 2005)
(Library Journal )
Book DescriptionRichard Siken’s Crush, selected as the 2004 winner of the Yale Younger Poets prize, is a powerful collection of poems driven by obsession. Siken writes with ferocity, and his reader hurtles unstoppably with him. His poetry is confessional, gay, savage, and charged with violent eroticism.
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Впечатления

  • Alexa Asakura ✨делится впечатлениемв прошлом месяце
    👍Worth reading
    🔮Hidden Depths
    💡Learnt A Lot

    Un poemario lleno de amor y violencia, te hace poner diferentes situaciones en perspectiva

  • ♡emma♡делится впечатлением3 года назад
    💞Loved Up

  • b8905934910делится впечатлением3 года назад
    👍Worth reading

Цитаты

  • strangenewemberцитирует3 года назад
    Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending
    that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,
    these shins, these soapy flanks.
  • strangenewemberцитирует3 года назад
    Someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure.
  • windцитирует5 лет назад
    History repeats itself. Somebody says this.

    History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,

    over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.

    History is a little man in a brown suit

    trying to define a room he is outside of.

    I know history. There are many names in history

    but none of them are ours.

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