The Independent - London, September 19th, 1995
There are poets who treat their own books lovingly when they read, hardly daring to open them for fear of doing some violence to the poems inside. And then there are the brutes, the spine-snappers, who don't seem to give a damn. If the poems are robust enough, they'll survive. Charles Simic, over in London from New Hampshire for the first time in many years, is a book-torturing brute of a poet.
Simic emigrated to America from Yugoslavia in 1938, and there is still that growling, guttural quality to his voice. The poetry itself is deliciously weird - a mixture of the jarringly surreal and the ...
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