ever since i heard of the idea of antin's talk-poems i was v taken with the idea. it took me several years to actually get around to reading them and now that i have i see they are somewhat different than i thought. i'd had in my head a sort of improvisational imagistic philosophical thing where in fact it's more like storytelling with something like that imagistic-philosophical sensibility imbued into the structure of the pieces, the movements between musings and narrative, the choices of stories, those sorts of things. the memorable parts as it turns out are basically stories—the most interesting euro-levantine-dwarf-linguist-artist-poet in the world; the uncle calling after twenty years and promptly getting hit by a car; the father-in-law who was a rising star in hungarian literature at just the worst possible time; a story about dementia (basically) turning into a meditation on duration. somehow the word fulsome comes to mind: generous, unpretentious, ingenuous, intelligent.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Antin's experiment is to talk in front of live audiences, holding forth, telling stories, making things up (narrativally, but the things are generally those he seems to have thought about a great deal ahead of time), and allow the flow of the moment to become the spate of time that gives the improvisation its shape. The result are story-talk-poems that always go in surprising directions and interest one, as Antin is a kind of postmodern genius of the architectures of thinking, culture, and social interaction. Great, and like no one else.
The one David Antin book I might recommend over all others, if only because I enjoy the story about the poetry reading at the Fillmore East. This guy is genius in action.