Though Paul Muldoon's voice is thoroughly his own, a taste for turbulent rhythms and fantastical journeys firmly links him with some of our finest poets, most notably Coleridge. In "The Mud Room," the start of this stunning collection, the speaker juxtaposes wildly dissimilar images--Pharaohs and Kikkoman soy sauce, Virgil's Georgics and "cardboard boxes from K-Mart," ziggurats and six-packs. Why? Because in piecing together the whole of our collective human past--the past of Jackson Browne's "The Pretender" on the same page as the past of Epicurus--Muldoon casts a vote for inclusion, a vote against exclusivity and relegation. He travels far to show such close relations. Rather than focus on differences, we're forced to consider a resemblance between rock stars and Pharaohs, and in turn a grander likeness that joins us all. But in drawing together common connective strands of history, culture, and emotion, Muldoon is anything but general. His language is highly original and searching. He doesn't merely sniff dispassionately at the "otherness" of words; like an excited hound that has discovered the scent of another animal, he rolls vigorously in it--and makes it his So a harum-scarumbushman, hey, would slash one forearmwith a flint, ho, or a sliver of steeltill it flashed, hey ho, like a hel-iograph.These poems resonate with an easy coexistence of the ordinary and the exotic. Whether he's penning rhymed haiku ( rhymed haiku? ) about placid farm life ("None more dishevelled / than those who seemed most demure. / Our rag-weed revels") or quatrains about Cracow ("Into the Vistula swollen with rain / you and I might have plunged and found a way / to beat out the black grain / as our forefathers did on threshing day"), Muldoon's words gleam like jewels unearthed from everyday mud. --Martha Silano
Born in Northern Ireland, Muldoon currently resides in the US and teaches at Princeton University. He held the chair of Professor of Poetry at Oxford University from 1999 through 2004. In September 2007, Muldoon became the poetry editor of The New Yorker.
Awards: 1992: Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize for Madoc: A Mystery 1994: T. S. Eliot Prize for The Annals of Chile 1997: Irish Times Irish Literature Prize for Poetry for New Selected Poems 1968–1994 2002: T. S. Eliot Prize (shortlist) for Moy Sand and Gravel 2003: Griffin Poetry Prize (Canada) for Moy Sand and Gravel 2003: Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for Moy Sand and Gravel 2004: American Ireland Fund Literary Award 2004: Aspen Prize 2004: Shakespeare Prize
this guy came to st. lawrence when i was a junior and spoke in one of my classes. the church bells were ringing at 5pm, and i said "that sounds like the flinstones theme." and paul muldoon, an irishman nonetheless, turns to me and says "did you say 'the thong song'"
Some solid pieces, especially to do with rural life, tinged with occasional Baby Boomer nonsense. No one is asking for pages upon pages of verse liner notes for your favorite rock bands and albums.
I imagine Muldoon's wild antics are as difficult to sift through as his Mudroom, and, although we are well aware of his mad-genius, one finds oneself wishing that he would come out from behind his obscure references, look the reader in the eye and give us something real.
At first, I hated the Hay Poems. I couldn't get through it. It made me realize how easy it is to hate something when you don't understand it - ignorance ties in perfectly with hate.
After studying the poems more closely; I did not hate them. I do not fully understand or like the poems in this collection. But it is interesting to see Muldoon's take on pastoral poetry and different poetry stanzas form.
My favorite poems were: "The Mudroom," "Lag," and "The Train," which funnily enough are all three poems I have used in my essays for my poetry class.
Muldoon, being an Irish man living in America, is focused on the concept of hybridity all while concealing himself and keeping a distance from his readers.
Overall, a very complicated and interesting and at times frustrating poetic read.