Perelman's substantial new collection, his ninth since 1975 and a standout even in this exceptionally rich year of poetry publication, opens with the bizarre confession that "Aliens have inhabited my aesthetics for/ decades." This perhaps ironic retraction of a career spent in resolute avant-gardism ("I / seem to have lost my avant-garde // card in the laundry") is only the first in a dizzying series of raids on a bank of personal and collective...
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Poetry