Word: poems
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Poking the Foibles. One of his most satiric series was his dozen oils of Hu-dibras, the central figure in Samuel Butler's scathing poem on puritanical hypocrisy. Hudibras was ignorant, conceited, preachy, distempered, vain-a cocksure jackass. Butler used him to poke fun at reformers, and so did Hogarth...
...poetry in Mosaic is modest, both in length and ambition. John Russo's poems "From 'Still-Life'" give the impression that the poet is not yet completely comfortable with his poetry. In his first two poems he seems to be striving for objectivity in the presentation of almost-forgotten experiences, giving the poems so much distance from the poet and the reader that their communicative aspect is lost. In his last poem he permits himself to appear in the verse, with significantly better results...
...Split Second" by P. Greenspan freezes times momentarily and lets memory give a new order to the present. The poem has a tendency to become sing-song, but occasionally exhibits a control over colloquial diction and natural rhythms...
...central inspiration of Miss Greenspan's poem suggests the major theme of the entire issue. After "turning the day clockless" the poetess becomes concerned with discovering "some sequence of tense." Marshall Berman and Anne Bernays similarly have attempted to find some sequence of events in their pasts, which help clarify their present attitudes and feelings. Kroch and Aufhauser have observed the conflicts between a traditional way of life and the demands of modernity. Russo and Hamburg have prssented fragments of the past in fiction and poetry. Mosaic does not try to put together the puzzle of the past; it successfully...
...tactile con-cretion that works against a generally undefined setting to yield a sense of hallucinatory strangeness; the poet advances opaque ideas in deceptively simple language, apt to be accepted before its difficulty is recognized, as in "into the shifty sand and blank/ sky of us." I like this poem better than any of Sandy's except perhaps the Breughel poem published in the New Yorker a few weeks...