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POETIC UPFRONTERY |
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face blindness: blazevox books, 2007
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to read the review written by gregory betts for the danforth review
Megan A. Volpert has in common with other
high-rolling ornery genius pistols a lot of nerve, a lot of heart, and an inability to leave anything said alone. She's an original imp of the perverse
well tended and set loose. Nothing's forbidden, nothing's unquestioned, well, perhaps only just the divine poem
to which she both aspires and will not but barely in the poems in face blindness touch. She's off on a great adventure, her misbehavior flagrantly fuels her fine excesses. Stay out of her
way if you can't take a little mussing up. Smart, new, odd. I have not seen so many minds this singular, this energetic and weird and inventive in some time. Which of these several authorities is a better writer is immaterial, as together all these Megan Volperts amount to an invincibly bright collaboration. This is a book that plays freeze tag with the possible. |
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read the review written by melanie waltman for subtletea
When you're ready to venture
off the daily grid of life-as-planned, enter face blindness where "a fetish object
is the thing/to which we want/to give and to witness" and become privy to and part of "moments your camera could
never capture." You'll find no prescriptions of an average or calming
sort here.
Megan A. Volpert's full-length debut startles and spirits us through the invisible and daring detritus of dialogue and story, NYC and Normal, Illinois, "name pong poetry" and "copyright infringement," letters laced with love for John Yau and Roland Barthes, phantasmagoria and prosopagnosia, fecund cullings from the minds of Jacques Derrida and Friedrich Nietzsche, ambling pathos and anxious heart, and everything in between. I am envious of Volpert's renderings for all the right reasons: face blindness does not merely go beyond the boundaries of poetry as many reviewers like to tout, but rather, this woman's words illustrate the fantastic meandering streets, skyways, and mind jetties that poetry itself can build and carry us along, and even encourages us to get out of our chairs and walk with that contagious energy, impassioned scenery included. In fact, if one looks hard into the face of this book's pluralities, you will eventually recognize it belongs onstage somewhere, behaving badly and willfully, for our own voyeuristic benefit. |
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the official website of megan a. volpert |
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