000			01576nam a2200229 a 4500
005			20231009193422.0
008			121113s1992 cau 000 0 eng
020			_a9780156421829
050	0	0	_aPS3569.I4725 _bH68 1992
082	0	0	_a811.54 SIM
100	1		_aSimic, Charles _d, 1938-
245	1	0	_aHotel insomnia _c/ Charles Simic.
250			_a1st ed.
260			_aSan Diego _b: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich _c, c1992.
300			_aix, 66 p. _c; 21 cm.
520			_a``Memory makes you hungry,'' writes Simic, whose poems are like folk tales told by a child with an impishly surrealistic streak. Memories of shadowy streets and rooms are haunted by an insomnia that suggests an enchanted dreamtime of watchfulness and revelation, where ``everything is a magic ritual,/ a secret cinema.'' One of the most original poets writing today, Simic has a gift for startling juxtapositions: ``Sleeplessness, you're like a pawnshop/Open late/ On a street of failing businesses.'' Homely images, in Simic's hands, take on an eerie combination of the marvelous and the absurd, ``Father studied theology through the mail/ and this was exam time./Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book/full of pictures. Night fell./ My hands grew cold touching the faces/ of dead kings and queens.'' There are few poets writing today whose sense of wonder is so palpable: ``happiness, you are the bright red lining/of the dark winter coat/ grief wears inside out.''
586			_aWinner, Pulitzer Prize 1989
650		4	_aPoetry, American
942			_cMO
999			_c270232 _d270232