Sunday, March 22, 2009

Blurbing poetry.

In a previous post, I carped about the quality of blurbing, assuming that blurbs aspire to quality. Perhaps, I was unjustly hard, since I have discovered that blurbing these days, in the USA, has not yet absorbed the Obama effect of reasonable speech. Mistakenly, I believed that publishers accepted the recommendations of readers to promote sales. Now, I realise that blurbs are written to bestow the kiss of death. Here are some newly baptised books receiving the last rites:

"Staged as a fiction via the paratextual sleight of its introduction, [this book] chronicles and catalogues transformation as a way of evading and understanding bodies and selves. Readers might register the shuttlings of the book's interlocutors as playful linguistic performances of the animal transformations they devise for each other. "

"In these pages, the electric linguistic experiment meets a new urban, postnatural poetics, one in which poetry is not just a play of signs and seemings but also a prismatic investigation of our contemporary order."

"The recovery of the natural world, so central to her anti-generic, synergistic project, posits nothing less than overwriting the catastrophe of our nature/culture agon."

"[These] poems both court and cuckold subjectivity by unmasking its fundament of sex and hesitancy, the coil of doubt in its certitude."

"The work in this wondrous first major book by has a phenomenal - an excitatory - presence, the presence of action, not thing. This book is a matrix of polytemporal energy, a linguistic carnival, ribald and resounding."

Who needs books of poetry when the blurbs are so creative?


Steve Fellner said...


I had fun engaging with you before. Most people on these blogs describe the petty, even if fascinating, details of their lives.

You may be interested in:

With respect,
Steve Fellner

Eshuneutics said...

Hi, Steve, yes, I would like to pay your blog a visit. Best wishes.

JD said...

Oh Eshu.... this was so fun to read! I'm still giggling.


BarbaraS said...

Yes, I don't know why people who, when they have to write about poetry, can't simply call a spade a spade. I promise that, if I am ever called to do such a (dis)service to someone's work, I will be straightforward, not use cliches or versions of words hitherto unseen. You saw it here first!

Eshuneutics said...

Hello, JD, welcome as always. I am tempted to do a parody blurb, but I don't believe that would be possible: my obscurity at its best (and can I be obscure!) would seem bright against these profundities.

Barbara, a spade is a spade is a spade, unless you're a blurber. Of course, I agree wholeheartedly with you. I have a passion to hunt more down and find more false gems out there. He, he ,he. I wonder when the tradition of blurbing became a noble art. I am reminded of Sterne via Pound: "Gravity, a strange carriage of the body to hide a strange defect of the mind."
Or something like that. Must check Ezra's "ABC of Blurbing".