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Denmark, Kangaroo, Orange
Winner of the 2006 Pearl Poetry Prize, selected by Denise Duhamel, Denmark, Kangaroo, Orange is a collection of whimsical, imaginative, and always surprising prose poems. Ranging in subject from nostalgia, mortality, and the after-life to poetry itself, this new book by Kevin Griffith is, in the words of Duhamel, "a rich, startling, and magical romp."
- GenresPoetry
79 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
June 8, 2008
An absolutely delightful collection of poems.
Smart and accessible.
Fresh and funny.
Lighthearted and thoughtful.
I adore it. Totally.
While reading I kept thinking if there was a band that could put these poems to music it would be Magnetic Fields.
The highlights: "Your Pants Look Disappointed," "The Kite," "Marriage," and "Coffee."
I whole heartedly recommend this book to those serious about poetry and those who want to like poetry but claim they don't "understand it."
Smart and accessible.
Fresh and funny.
Lighthearted and thoughtful.
I adore it. Totally.
While reading I kept thinking if there was a band that could put these poems to music it would be Magnetic Fields.
The highlights: "Your Pants Look Disappointed," "The Kite," "Marriage," and "Coffee."
I whole heartedly recommend this book to those serious about poetry and those who want to like poetry but claim they don't "understand it."
October 16, 2021
Exemplary prose poems. Short. Funny. Purposeless. I like the book and I am interested and intrigued to read other works by him.
November 30, 2017
Disclaimer: This book was written by a much-loved professor of mine, so I'm pretty biased.
It feels odd to have to reduce a former professor's work (and really fantastic work, at that) to stars, so focus less on the stars and more on my words.
All of the characters here are fairly nameless, faceless, with only the smallest necessary shreds of necessary premise fed to us to get us through. We are confronted with "fathers," "mothers," "killers," "children," "midgets," "scientists. We move wildly between the mundane and the bizarre from poem to poem, and usually the two are not mixed. The premise itself is silly; the feelings being confronted are personal and more serious. This unique take is really where these poems shine. Griffith does his work quickly -- the majority of these poems are about a paragraph. The silly premise is so absorbing that it often takes a reread to catch the serious feelings bubbling underneath. Let's take a look at my favorite poem, "The Kite."
When I was young, we didn't have money for anything, not even a dime store kite, all wrapping paper and balsa stick. I remember the surprise on my little brother's face when my father tied a harness of twine around my brother's chest. How easily the gust caught and lifted him above the trees, where, after a while, he felt comfortable enough to wave, to smile a bit.
HA. How absurd, am I right? We're reminded of our childhood desire to attached ourselves to a large bunch of balloons, no? But wait. This family is extremely poor, too poor for a dime store kite. How thin is the brother here? The gust caught him so "easily." And ugh, the imagery of him uncomfortably flying before he smiles, just sitting up there, thin and young.
I will be keeping this and rereading it. I laughed, and then realized I should feel uncomfortable over and over again.
It feels odd to have to reduce a former professor's work (and really fantastic work, at that) to stars, so focus less on the stars and more on my words.
All of the characters here are fairly nameless, faceless, with only the smallest necessary shreds of necessary premise fed to us to get us through. We are confronted with "fathers," "mothers," "killers," "children," "midgets," "scientists. We move wildly between the mundane and the bizarre from poem to poem, and usually the two are not mixed. The premise itself is silly; the feelings being confronted are personal and more serious. This unique take is really where these poems shine. Griffith does his work quickly -- the majority of these poems are about a paragraph. The silly premise is so absorbing that it often takes a reread to catch the serious feelings bubbling underneath. Let's take a look at my favorite poem, "The Kite."
When I was young, we didn't have money for anything, not even a dime store kite, all wrapping paper and balsa stick. I remember the surprise on my little brother's face when my father tied a harness of twine around my brother's chest. How easily the gust caught and lifted him above the trees, where, after a while, he felt comfortable enough to wave, to smile a bit.
HA. How absurd, am I right? We're reminded of our childhood desire to attached ourselves to a large bunch of balloons, no? But wait. This family is extremely poor, too poor for a dime store kite. How thin is the brother here? The gust caught him so "easily." And ugh, the imagery of him uncomfortably flying before he smiles, just sitting up there, thin and young.
I will be keeping this and rereading it. I laughed, and then realized I should feel uncomfortable over and over again.
October 28, 2012
I had breakfast with Kevin this morning. Sausage and day-old pancakes with jam. And tea. We laughed as we discussed aging, travel, writing, and the odd mythology. When I say "we laughed," I mean to say that I laughed and sensed that Kevin must have laughed as he wrote these pieces. Though I suspect with some he sighed as he revised. Or pondered. Or stewed. Because these prose poems seem to have the qualities of a mood ring: adapting themselves to the reader's inner state so that different elements are highlighted accordingly.
I couldn't put this book down--had to consume it in one sitting. It was every bit as engaging as the collection of his microfiction I had the pleasure of publishing (101 KINDS OF IRONY, Folded Word, 2012). Yet it had more layers, as poetry must. The same wit and wink were there, but also in attendance were beauty and insight. And a line I'll never forget from "In the Town of the Fallen Angel": If you are very lucky, you will see the angel himself, asleep in his chair, holding the open wings of a book in his lap.
Thank you, Kevin, for making me lucky today.
I couldn't put this book down--had to consume it in one sitting. It was every bit as engaging as the collection of his microfiction I had the pleasure of publishing (101 KINDS OF IRONY, Folded Word, 2012). Yet it had more layers, as poetry must. The same wit and wink were there, but also in attendance were beauty and insight. And a line I'll never forget from "In the Town of the Fallen Angel": If you are very lucky, you will see the angel himself, asleep in his chair, holding the open wings of a book in his lap.
Thank you, Kevin, for making me lucky today.
September 11, 2007
Great, great book. I laughed so hard with these poems. It's the first great, humorous collection of contemporary poems I've ever read.... Not sure what this says about me. But this book was fantastic.
March 22, 2008
A romp. I'm glad poetry is STILL more popular than ever. And that "on the stale cake, the candles, little cannibals, ate their own silence."
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews