A Hundred Lovers: Poems (Libro en Inglés)

$ 990.00
ISBN: 9780593320983
por Knopf
ISBN: 9780593320983
Editorial: Knopf
Autor: Hofmann, Richie
Año de edición: 2022
N° Paginas: 80
Tipo de pasta: Pasta dura
Descripción: An erotic journal in poems, from a rising star in the American poetry scene, author of the highly acclaimed collection Second Empire."A book of love poems that consciously and subversively hearken back to Shakespeare’s sonnets, marking Hofmann’s position as one of our necessary poets of erotic desire. These short lyrics come together in their discussion of geography, painting, sculpture, and classical music as if to say that love (that queer love!) is indeed as immortal as a poem. Or as Hofmann himself writes, ‘There is so much to say. It may take until night.’” —Jericho Brown, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of The TraditionA Hundred Lovers is a catalog of encounters, sublime, steamy, and frank. Inspired by French autofiction, the poems feel both sharp and diaristic; their lyrical, intimate world brings us everyday scenes imbued with sex. "Eros enters, where shame had lived," the speaker observes, as the poems explore risk and appetite, promiscuity and violence, and, in the wake of his marriage, questions about monogamy and desire.Bringing us both the carefully knotted silk ties of the wedding pair and their undress in a series of Hockney-like interiors where passion colors every object, Hofmann speaks plainly of the saliva, tears, and guts of the carnal, just as he does of the sublime in works of art. A Hundred Lovers invites us to consider our own memories of pleasure and pain, which fill the generous white space the poet leaves open to us between his ravishing lines.Review“Sensuous . . . Catalogs the tastes, textures, scents, and sounds of queer love, sex, and heartache . . . These are corporeal poems that find their players yearning, yawning, aroused under a chestnut tree, dressed in linens, fed on cheese and apples, mourning, smelling of ferns . . . An entrancing testament to the pleasures and pains of human connection.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)“This is a book you take in with your feeling body; it’s full of textures and scents, redolent with music and art. The speaker of these poems, hungry for beauty and brutality, seeks out connection while haunted by the inviolable singleness of the self. One finds an almost lost tradition channeled in these brilliant poems, and also a sensibility that makes tradition startlingly new.” —Garth Greenwell“Richie Hofmann chisels the excess away, brings to light splendid language. His formal intelligence is ravishing, restless. Crackling with vows and disavowals, studded with keen and elegant imagery, simultaneously raw and curated, his poems remind us the flesh is as curious as the mind. A Hundred Lovers is an unflinching and radiant book.” —Eduardo C. CorralAbout the AuthorRICHIE HOFMANN is the author of Second Empire (2015), and his poetry has appeared recently in The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, and The Yale Review. He teaches at Stanford University and lives in Chicago and San Francisco.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.CoquelicotI pretend to sleep when he leaves.He rubs his thumb across my chapped lips,he touches the hair grown long around my ears.I remember smelling him and the garrigue.I leave by fast train, passing through suburbs,poverty, dilapidated buildings so closeto destruction from within, poppies in full sun,the blurring dross, the violetgraffiti, then nothing. My dirty clothespacked above me, the T-shirt that carries his smell,the weak black pepper of him,the T-shirt he wiped his penis with.I’m afraid of falling asleep,because I will desire him in my sleep.Every NightI listened to the études through the early winter,so quiet, so fineeven my breath could ruin them.I asked my boyfriend to suffocate me,I made him lick the mirror.The nineteenth-century moldingsexpressed an indifferent perfection. Breezeat the window, our skins shivery.I ate all the time at that place where they cut pizza with scissorsand you pay by the weight.I kissed my classmates,I walked ar
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