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Marion Winik, nonstop

"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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