73 pages. ISBN 978-1-907489-14-3
Praise for Arlo Quint:
Click here to hear a reading by the author.
Arlo Quint’s earmade works in Death to Explosions are iambicless sneakers on variable feet complete with minitundra of great sounding sentence-y lines. Like all works that stay interesting these three series form an attention pool rereading widens from the beautiful edge of meaningless to plain spoken beauty’s spot quizzes and test of time. Step in this river twice.
Arlo Quint handles his lines and their turns with a combination of unadorned care and demand that for me, right now, has no equal. When experiencing his work I get immersed in the range of perception, the corresponding sensitivity to particulars, the wry tonal variations, and something like a measured velocity of presence holding it all together. When not experiencing it I merely burn with pleasurable envy.
Arlo Quint’s poems have the remote, enraptured quality of the lines that Orpheus copies down from his car radio in the Cocteau film, Orphée. Like those, they create a thirst for themselves that is never entirely quenched. "I really come from the beyond / and no messages from Jersey / and no apologies from the moon", he reveals. Mostly compact and sonnet-like, with four or five words per line, each of his messages is like what the poet P. K. Page called "a telegram as solid as a brick."
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