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Going Fast: Poems
An award-winning author's sixth collection of poetry is filled with inventive and brutally daring verse that exposes the postmodern world in eerie, disturbing, and remarkably beautiful images.
- GenresPoetry
99 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1998
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
August 28, 2015
Let's face it--the cover is what draws attention to a book. Whenever I shop for books in a store, covers draw me in. I know people who read books because martini glasses are on the cover and people who won't read books that have pink covers. This cover did not draw me in because it was stuck on a shelf, but I've spent plenty of time trying to figure it out. It's fascinating. If you have any idea of what it is, let me know.
Aside from having a fabulous cover, American poet Frederick Seidel has interesting, skillfully crafted poems in this collection, Going Fast. He takes a journey across the world in major cities and in his mind. His imagery comes from wordplay, of which I am a huge fan, and juxtaposition of events both mundane and internationally crisis driven. The poems confront love and death as much of poetry does, but he uses a fresh, unique voice and view.
Go to France. Go to Tahiti. Go to England and Italy. Then come back to the states. Stay in New York City. All under 100 pages of verse.
Aside from having a fabulous cover, American poet Frederick Seidel has interesting, skillfully crafted poems in this collection, Going Fast. He takes a journey across the world in major cities and in his mind. His imagery comes from wordplay, of which I am a huge fan, and juxtaposition of events both mundane and internationally crisis driven. The poems confront love and death as much of poetry does, but he uses a fresh, unique voice and view.
Go to France. Go to Tahiti. Go to England and Italy. Then come back to the states. Stay in New York City. All under 100 pages of verse.
July 4, 2024
DUNE ROAD, SOUTHAMPTON
The murderer has been injecting her remorselessly
With succinylcholine, which he mixes in her daily insulin.
She's too weak to give herself her shots. By the time she
has figured it out,
She is helpless.
She can't move any part of her face.
She can't write a note.
She can't speak
To say she hasn't had a stroke.
It's terrifying that she's aware
That something terrible is being done to her.
One day he ups the dose. And gets scared.
She has to be rushed to the local hospital and intubated.
They know at the hospital who she is,
One of the richest women in the world.
The murderer hands the attending a faked M.R.I.
It flaunts the name of a world authority. Showing she has
had a stroke.
The neurologist on call introduces herself to the murderer
and concurs.
Locked-in Syndrome, just about the worst.
Alive, with staring eyes.
The mind is unaffected.
And with the patient looking on expressionlessly,
Screaming don't let him take me home, without a sign or
sound.
The doctor tells the murderer he can take her home,
If that's their wish.
Their little beach house has forty rooms.
Her elevator is carved mahogany.
The Great Gatsby swimming pool upstairs is kept full and
never used.
Her tower bedroom flies out over the winter ocean,
spreading its wings.
Mother, you're going to die,
He tells her, once they're alone.
You have the right to remain silent.
I'm making a joke.
I'll read you your rights.
He takes a syringe.
A woman has the right to bare arms. I particularly like them
bare.
I might as well be talking to cement.
The murderer has been injecting her remorselessly
With succinylcholine, which he mixes in her daily insulin.
She's too weak to give herself her shots. By the time she
has figured it out,
She is helpless.
She can't move any part of her face.
She can't write a note.
She can't speak
To say she hasn't had a stroke.
It's terrifying that she's aware
That something terrible is being done to her.
One day he ups the dose. And gets scared.
She has to be rushed to the local hospital and intubated.
They know at the hospital who she is,
One of the richest women in the world.
The murderer hands the attending a faked M.R.I.
It flaunts the name of a world authority. Showing she has
had a stroke.
The neurologist on call introduces herself to the murderer
and concurs.
Locked-in Syndrome, just about the worst.
Alive, with staring eyes.
The mind is unaffected.
And with the patient looking on expressionlessly,
Screaming don't let him take me home, without a sign or
sound.
The doctor tells the murderer he can take her home,
If that's their wish.
Their little beach house has forty rooms.
Her elevator is carved mahogany.
The Great Gatsby swimming pool upstairs is kept full and
never used.
Her tower bedroom flies out over the winter ocean,
spreading its wings.
Mother, you're going to die,
He tells her, once they're alone.
You have the right to remain silent.
I'm making a joke.
I'll read you your rights.
He takes a syringe.
A woman has the right to bare arms. I particularly like them
bare.
I might as well be talking to cement.
August 23, 2025
My first exposure to this poet generally considered among the most important writing today. Looking forward to reading more of his work and seeing if I can connect better with his well-crafted but somewhat off-putting verse.
November 29, 2011
Enjoyed it's non-travelogue-name-dropping-esque bits most of all, but also managed to find lyricism in the structures and sites this Seidel around that I didn't in "Ooga-Booga." Neato. I'm a Seidel fan.
February 13, 2009
It's not really fair but Seidel reminds me of a modern Antonin Artaud, with the insight but without the mental illness. On the contrary, how frighteningly sane he is, how he makes sense....
May 6, 2013
There is no one who can write about a Ducati like Seidel. This collection was off the hook. A blistering read!
April 5, 2013
America's greatest living poet? Certainly a strong candidate.
February 14, 2008
best american poet alive?
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews