Grab The Late Parade: Poems Generated By Adam Fitzgerald Accessible In Edition

no doubt that Adam Fitzgerald is possessed of enormous genius, Way to go, dude! You make light work of heavy light, A super pleasure with just the right amount of challenge, A touch more sandpaper and you'd be too perfect to bear, I found it recondite and excessively sententious, Doesn't do it for me, To be on the up and up, the many, supernovas or still shining, come out and are awarded by me for the luminosity in the syntax, diction, and creative dill of the writing.
The verdit for me , however, is still out if the are longsnuffed celestial wordworkings garnered prostrate from the writer's writing cheekiness or, to quote a few examples from the author's "iness" predilection, are linguistic starfires that cook with some serious kerosine: "sleepiness, mineralness, niceness, trustiness the word choice I actually trust the least, ironically.
Both these wonderments that I have may be more of the writer's predecessors than of the oomph in the writing,

With this first volume, maybe there is still a plunder of "juvenilia" to swashbuckle in regard to the author's development of object, subject, setting and overall control of creating the reader as much as the reader creates the writing as he or she reads the poems.
To wax way intellectually offthecharts stickuptheass, the issue can be summarized by giving acent version of Harold Bloom's, The Anxiety of Influence.
As Bloom puts in the that little tome, the misreading of an influential writer's impact on the poet's writing invigorates and initiates the younger poets poetic style.
. . Ashbery misreading Stevens as one of Blooms key examples, and most relevant to this text,

The poet, Mr, Fitzgerald, has yet to fully immerse himself in his misreading of his poetic fore "figures" although many

are forefathers, Long established masters John Ashbery/James Schuyler although the Jane Frilicher color and certainty of outlines impressionistic in there thereness, yet ephemeral embodiness that one reads and sees of both these artists works is not fully evolved yet in the "parade" need the inside out writing turned inside out, rather than defaulting to the Ashbery, i.
e. "To write about one thing, you must first write about another, " A great first line, original not such an important point, but pure homage to the Ashes Buried in all the soot and silt and stammer that arrives from Mr.
Fitzgerald's always disembodied poems held together by alluding and colluding without any diluting of the text, subtext, liminal, aporiatic, lacuna, sapphic, dash of this and that hiding of the human, personal, political, sexual, emotional, and intellectual agenda in any of his poems.


Deeper in the influence anxiety zone for Mr, Fitzgerald is Timothy Donnelly. Donnelly's work is apparent to the ManMax and My Own Private Idaho nth degree, Richard Howard sits on his couch next the poet more as an intellectual, editor, translator influence because, no offense to Richard, . . I mean Howard's a great writer, but on the whole his poetic writings are William Morris flypaper stuck to your eyeballs as you read it, and lesser so to the anxiety is Jon Yau, and even a smidgeon lesser so toward any anxiety are the tautness found in Mark Strand and Louise Gluck.


As a whole I will leave out the big boys and girls, Crane, Auden, Bishop, James plus art critic Robert Hughes from my critical reflection about the anxiety in the influence for the book.
There is much work to be done to do what Ashbery did with Stevens when tackling these writers as the poets one misreads to make his or her poetic style, voice etc.


Overall, I entirely recommend the book, for its language and buried gems of wisdom, and pithiness of jocular itch and scratch humor.
And certainly, with the facility of language Mr, Fitzegerald commands, any reader will be smitten by many keen ideas and emotional zingers "forged from the smithy of the soul" from a bright, young poet.
My caveat or my challenge for the next book or pieces to Mr, Fitzgerald would be to write to expose first and to let the postmodern, Derridian, Lacanian, Saussurean, Barthes, and De Mann doublespeak happenstance itself rather than be courted.
In the poets one words
"Assymetrical styles wake up asserting their charm,
a ridged wristflick of completion, So a man leaves
a theater, dreams aloud his bowtie mate, fashioning

a virile somethingoranother, It begins a rain droplet,
a sedge: something full of oblong blisses, remote as
dovetails pitterpatters mute inside, . . "

This is a stylish, lyrical frequently nonsensical book of poetry, The poems are beautiful and flowing but only a few of them are discernable enough from the wash of nice language to stick in my memory.

The first poem, which I take to be the books thesis is excellent
Cathedral
To write about one thing, you must first write about another
To speak of the death of King Charles V,
you must first speak of the ho Chi Minh Dynasty.

To understand the rotund ministries of, say, moonlight,
you must first be blind, and understand fencing,

As for me, I understand discomfort, It falls
in the pinched, early blue bow light of dawn,
I speak often and only erringly about football,
racket clubs, and the general way of the world,
You go out for coffee, You come back another person,

This is honest, reflective, ironic poetry grappling with the intimidating complexity of knowledge, Its tight and cohesive, it has a little button line, I love it.

Mostly these elements are lost in the rest, a process the worst jacket blurb descirbes as "Released from the plod of workaday logics and handed over to the flow of their own becoming", which is a bullshit sentence describing a terrible notion, that making sense is common and banal and poets aspire to a more romantic mode of thinking than mere mortals.
This is why there's a good reason to think poets are assholes, Thinking is hard and artists who disdain it probably do so because they don't like hard work rather than that they think it's beneath them.


But I don't think Fitzgerald necessarily follows that philosophy, even though its on his book jacket, I could discover an inner logic in many of my favourite of his pieces "Phattafacia Stupenda" "Soviet Pastoral" and much of the longform title Poem "The Last Parade".
I'll even grant that there's more unifying themes and stories in many of the poems that I simply didn't understand at first reading, because Fitzgerald certainly demonstrates a deep and genuine love of English letters that dwarfs my own.


You see that in stanzas like
One spring patio is for rodeos
niggled with iodine figures, weaved
tapestries inside vast Tuileries
But that reminds me, how exactly
do words form brittle histories

From Last Parade.


Throughout his dexterity towards form and language are apparent, and nothing is jarring or insipid or trite, In fact, many of the pieces are witty and moving, but never enough to overcome the aimless, entropic contents,
Esoteric and pretentious. Two for the first poem in the collection and none for the remainder, Ashbery in a funhouse, drunk and ready to vomit, Each poem is like a chocolate truffle very rich and truly inspiring For me, this just didn't find that balance between language and content that's often so hard to pull off in poetry the former kept getting in the way of the latter.
Get your dictionary out. The poems in Adam Fitzgerald's The Late Parade are sprinkled with lots of outoftheordinarynotoftenused words, words I used to know the meaning of but then forgot.
Aside from that, the sound each piece creates drives this collection, It's a study in word play, so even if you're lost, you can tag along to the sounds to get through, “Fitzgeralds voice is a new and welcome sound in the aviary of contemporary poetry, ” David Kirby, New York Times Book

The publication of The Late Parade announced the arrival of one of the most exciting young poets in America.
Channeling "the primal vision of Hart Crane" Harold Bloom, Adam Fitzgerald helped welcome the modernist aethetic into the twentyfirst century, Part Technicolor, part nitrous oxide, Fitzgerald's chimerical poems confront "a surging ocean of sound and language" Maureen McLane, In these fortyeight poems, he conducts a madcap symphony of language, memory, and fantasy with the "exhilarating assurance of nonstop invention" Timothy Donnelly.
Adam Fitzgerald is a New York City based poet, editor and teacher, He is founding editor of the poetry journal sitelink Maggy, In, he completed a Masters while editing two unpublished essays of John Ashbery on W, H. Auden and Henry Green at Boston Universitys Editorial Institute, In, he received his MFA from Columbia Universitys School of the Arts in Poetry, Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in A Public Space, Boston , Conjunctions, The Brooklyn Rail, and elsewhere, Currently, he adjunct professes in literature and creative writing at Rutgers University and The New School, He lives in a pea sized studio in the East Village, His debut collection of poetry, The Late Parade, will be published by W, W. Nortons Liveright impr Adam Fitzgerald is a New York City based poet, editor and teacher, He is founding editor of the poetry journal sitelink Maggy, In, he completed a Masters while editing two unpublished essays of John Ashbery on W, H. Auden and Henry Green at Boston Universitys Editorial Institute, In, he received his MFA from Columbia Universitys School of the Arts in Poetry, Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in A Public Space, Boston , Conjunctions, The Brooklyn Rail, and elsewhere, Currently, he adjunct professes in literature and creative writing at Rutgers University and The New School, He lives in a pea sized studio in the East Village, His debut collection of poetry, The Late Parade, will be published by W, W. Nortons Liveright imprint in June, sitelink.