Axe in Blossom
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Axe in Blossom
ナレーター：
Michael Dickman
￥1,410 で購入
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ナレーター：
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Michael Dickman
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著者：
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Franz Wright
“His hands strip poetry to its nub.” —Los Angeles Times
“Reading [Wright] is like walking through a plate-glass window on purpose. . . . The shattering sound you heard was your own heart breaking.” —Chicago Tribune
“My death is in the second drawer,” writes Franz Wright. “While you’re standing there, would you mind getting me one?” It is a thrill to be back in these cadences, in his world of exquisite solitude, as he ponders becoming a ghost and returning to a childhood room where, he says, “I won’t have written any of it. / I will have back the rights / of anonymity,” and there is nothing left that anyone can take from him.
Wright’s significant themes shine forth: radical acceptance of his own pain, mental illness, and loss; his belief in the poem’s ability to rhyme with the mysteries of our worldly suffering; his nearly surreal vision of Christian grace. But most powerful for readers will be the tender force of his imagery—the “green vesperal rain at the screen,” the “long Jeffersonian / $2-bill- / tinted twilight”—and, as he invites us to join him in his nicatorium, the smoking-porch of recovering addicts, the joy of finding this black-humorous voice still alive on the page to meet us.
Cover photo by Elizabeth Oehlkers Wright
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批評家のレビュー
“Axe in Blossom is in every sense an open book, practically an open studio. We see its striking title gestate through multiple phases—in a translation, an original poem, and a collage poem made from lines by Celan, Czesław Miłosz, and Rainer Brambach. . . . Among the ‘unfinishables’ is a poem that I consider a masterpiece, probably one of Wright’s very best. Dedicated to the German poet Karl Krolow, ‘At His Desk in the Past’ was ‘transcribed from self-recorded drafts on audio,’ in 2012. It’s ‘raining in a dead language’ out the window, as Wright measures the duration of his life against various phenomena—some brief, like an infant’s fever, some ancient, like the stars. . . . Tender, hardboiled, and wisecracking.” —Dan Chiasson, The New Yorker
“I’ve never been the beneficiary of a burning bush or an angel’s clarion trumpet, but this is the magic I have known: a titan like Franz Wright writing—as if directly to me, today—from his vantage on the other, longer side of eternity. No one living could make these sounds, crack these jokes, no one living could see so clearly so far out ahead. It’s pulverizing. It’s what language is for. I hold Axe in Blossom like the skull of a saint.” —Kaveh Akbar, author of Martyr!
“Unbearably beautiful and cohesive. . . . We are in the presence of a wildly unmatchable poet. . . . ‘Theology’ opens, ‘There must be someone else / who wakes disturbed, alone; / too bad we can’t talk on our tiny phone.’ These poems are that tiny phone, connecting us to Wright and all that his poems remind us we can endure.” —Literary Hub
“I’ve never been the beneficiary of a burning bush or an angel’s clarion trumpet, but this is the magic I have known: a titan like Franz Wright writing—as if directly to me, today—from his vantage on the other, longer side of eternity. No one living could make these sounds, crack these jokes, no one living could see so clearly so far out ahead. It’s pulverizing. It’s what language is for. I hold Axe in Blossom like the skull of a saint.” —Kaveh Akbar, author of Martyr!
“Unbearably beautiful and cohesive. . . . We are in the presence of a wildly unmatchable poet. . . . ‘Theology’ opens, ‘There must be someone else / who wakes disturbed, alone; / too bad we can’t talk on our tiny phone.’ These poems are that tiny phone, connecting us to Wright and all that his poems remind us we can endure.” —Literary Hub
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