A stunning new collection from a “beguiling and magisterial” poet ( The New York Times Book Review )
This is the End of Days. This is what we’ve been waiting for always. I walked over to the Hudson River, heading for Mars. Each poem of mine is a suicide belt. I say that to my girlfriend Life.
Peaches Goes It Alone , Frederick Seidel’s newest collection of poems, begins with global warming and ends with Aphrodite. In between is everything. Peaches Goes It Alone presents the sexual and political themes that have long preoccupied Seidel―and thrilled and offended his readers. Lyrical, grotesque, and elegiac, Peaches Goes It Alone adds new music and menace to Seidel’s masterful body of work.
The greatest living writer—that is all. If you have not entered this particular world, this body and mind, this is an odd place to start: late Seidel is more curt, peremptory, the shapes he attempts are less ambitious. But for sheer vivid eyeball-peeling electricity Seidel is first among equals.
Seidel is a master poet. His imagery is bold and evocative. For instance: "the man sleeping on the street drew up the City of New York over his shoulders like a blanket."
Seidel combines doggerel with high art for an effect that is simultaneously off-handed and comically serious. Age, sex, desire, politics, and morality are the octogenarian's usual topics.
Much has been made about the Seidel that stalked his previous poems, but it really seems that his vision of the world has curdled in recent years; whether aging, the Trump administration or some other seemingly terminal unpleasantness is the chief cause of this, I don't know. Seidel seems more inclined to go out on obscene limbs, which can be thrilling (think back to the gut-punch of "Robespierre," from Widening Income Inequality) or predictable (yet another strategic dropping of "tits", "cunt", etc.) at equal turns.
Re-writing and editing is hard, but often necessary. While I am always happy to encounter poets who are not afraid to rhyme, I do think having a form, or at least a pattern, is extremely helpful. I think my overall impression of this volume is a lack of discipline.
A remarkable volume - at times sharp and biting, always witful, keen and mean and full of belly-laughs - Seidel really has his finger on the pulse of the tumultuous mid-trump era American co-mingled cultural experience. Seidel doesn't pull any punches and certainly sharpened his teeth for this one. Peaches is chock-a-block full of meaning, reference, cross-reference, and the thoughts and observations of someone whose had a good deal of time to think and observe, and has seemingly put this time to great use.
The elegiac elements are moving, the world knowledge is cracker-jack, the world experience is enviable. I've tremendously enjoyed this ride and have been left wanting more.
In this volume, Freddy has moved (at last!) into the era of Trump. Of course Freddy's oeuvre predates and predicts Trump. You read Going Fast and what else are we accelerating toward if not self-destruction via Trump?
Freddy's getting (even) older, but the poems here are sprightly and compelling, even if their topic is degeneration. If anything, perhaps a little less polished, and perhaps a little more "accessible", though in no way "easy." In my 50s now, I feel like Seidel's teaching me about the art of growing older, the art of memory, the ways to reflect.
It's awfully great to have a new Seidel book. I'll just probably sit down this coming week and re-read it cover to cover.
Peaches Goes It Alone (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2018) is my first venture into the work of Frederick Seidel, other than seeing some occasional anthology stuff. Earlier this morning, I had a dentist appointment - a simple affair, with a few annual X-rays, a teeth cleaning, and some fluoride. And for me, the trip to the dentist’s office was worlds more fun than working through Seidel’s Peaches Goes It Alone.
The old reprobate’s latest is a bit Seidel-by-numbers at times, and it’s hard not to wonder if sometimes he’s being deliberately naff purely because he knows Farrer, Straus & Giroux in America and Faber & Faber in the UK will publish it anyway, but nobody juxtaposes the elegant and the vulgar quite so deliciously.
Academic and boring poetic gymnastics. Lots of orange Cheeto type references to trump like he watched Colbert and Kimmel each night and worked them into his poems. Red meat for the base adds nothing to the discourse and unoriginal thinking
Frederick Seidel, bringing the ecstatic voice, on steroids, crack, caffeine, and existential dread, in the era of Trump. A propulsive and engaging read!!
Sharp, on the verge of decency, funny, sometimes childish, and always badass. I loved it. Somehow Seidel can be elegiac and edgy at the same time, old-school and contemporary, sweet and abrupt simultaneously and those controversies make his work so fresh and irresistible.
A collection of poems that poignantly captures the uncertainty of our times. In a style that is self-referential, shocking, and deeply political, Seidel comments on Trump, the environment, and our ageing populations as what once was is a fond but distant memory.