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"They talk about
the body of a poet's
work. Well Marion
Winik's work's body is out
on the dancefloor, jazzy, electric,
boogeying till they close the place down. Her
poems whizz from the North Pole to Zagreb to
Denmark to the flats of West Texas. They're populated
in part by an Aztec princess, Squeaky Fromme, Shakti
and Shiva, and Denise, who "keeps razorblades in her
pockets." They shiver, shimmy and shake, these poems,
this body: "The Texas Heat Wave broke over my body /as
if I was a beach, and could take it" – and "My body /is at
least as smooth and as arched /as the hood of your car."
But these are the most apparent delights. Look, too, at the
delicacy of perception and phrasing in the last two lines of
"What the Hitchhiker Said": those small graceful moves in
any body-wrist-turn and eye-dilation-that finally,in
accumulation, make the whole thing work."
–Albert Goldbarth
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