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This review is from: Parallax (Paperback)
Much fuss has been made of the title and its application. Fine: a thematic unity, an account of experience: this is potentially a persuasive device, but it is not sufficient. The language of the poems - and this is what matters - is flat, pedestrian, out of a strained imagination. Morrissey might be trying to tread a line between a common and heightened language but she does not do it well. Her attempts at the heightened are wordy and mechanical; her demotic is timid.
She has written well in earlier volumes: I think of two poems, 'The Second Lesson of the Anatomists,' and 'Matter'. But nothing in Parallax is as strong.
That Parallax won a big prize is depressing. So this is officially amongst the best that English poetry can offer its readers: desperate!
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Initial post: 22 Jun 2014 23:40:22 BDT
Simon Barrett says:
You call Peter Robinson flat too. How about noticing something you recommend?
In reply to an earlier post on 24 Jun 2014 19:59:13 BDT
Good question: I write rarely on this kind of site. Delight (Alice Oswald, say, Michael Hofmann, say, Liz Berry, say) does not have so many itches to scratch.
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