Daisy Fried’s enthusiasm for August Kleinzahler is catching. And that word oneira sets me thinking of oneiric, a prompt from my first poet-mentor Henri Cole. Oneiric, or dreamlike, comes back to haunt in the title of Kleinzahler’s latest tome, The Hotel Oneira, which Fried so well elucidates in the spring issue of ThreePennyReview (the journal does not allow hyperlinks, you must purchase).
David Weaver’s not so much haunted as delighted by Kleinzahler, going by his review in The Guardian, the paper I longed to write for during my salad days of music criticism. I give in. Kleinzahler, jumpy, witty, maniacal New Jersey master of barometric pressure points now pursues as Gaspar’s ecstasies pursue, and Reece’s restrained solitudes… as Warren Wilson’s essay semester’s solitudinous search for essay-topics weigh upon the soul of this poet..And, why not, Kleinzahler himself has been a music reviewer. Who can rue that.
‘The Rapture of Vachel Lindsay” makes a passing reference to Wallace Stevens’s “venereal soil”, and The Hotel Oneira confirms Kleinzahler once again as among the most delightful flowerings of American poetry in our times.”