Name: Revolver (en Inglés)
Price: 101.32 PEN
Availability: InStock
Author: Schiff, Robyn
ISBN: 9781587296956

Formato

Libro Físico

Autor

Robyn Schiff

Editorial

University of Iowa Press

Idioma

Inglés

N° páginas

Encuadernación

Tapa Blanda

Dimensiones

21.1 x 15.2 x 0.8 cm

Peso

0.16 kg.

ISBN

1587296950

ISBN13

9781587296956

Categorías

Estados unidos de américa
Poesía

Revolver (en Inglés)

Robyn Schiff (Autor) · University of Iowa Press · Tapa Blanda

Libro Nuevo

S/ 101,32

S/ 202,64

Ahorras: S/ 101,32

50% descuento

Envío normal

Origen: España (Costos de importación incluídos en el precio)

Se enviará desde nuestra bodega entre el Lunes 01 de Julio y el Miércoles 10 de Julio.

Lo recibirás en cualquier lugar de Perú entre 2 y 5 días hábiles luego del envío.

Reseña del libro "Revolver (en Inglés)"

As restless, reckless, and precise as the Colt revolver for which it is named, Robyn Schiff's Revolver "repeats fire without reloading" as it reckons with the array of foreboding objects displayed at the Great Exhibition of 1851 and the traces of their ghosts one hundred years later. A dirge on the Singer Sewing Machine, an exuberant and unnerving rumination on multipurpose campaign furniture, and a breathless account of Ralph Lauren's silver Porsche 550 Spyder are among the collection's exhilarating corporate histories, urgent fantasias, and agonizing love poems. The long, lavish, and utterly unpredictable sentences that Schiff has assembled contort as much to discover what can't be contained as what can. This is a book of extremes relentlessly contemporary in scope. And like the eighty-blade sportsman's knife also described here, Revolver keeps opening and reopening to the daunting possibilities of transformation--"Splayed it is a bouquet of all the ways a point mutates." from "Silverware by J. A. Henckels"Let me be as streamlined as my knife when I say this.As cold as my three-pronged fork that cools the meat even as it steadies it.A pettiness in me was honed in this cutlers' town, later bombed, in which Adolf Eichmann, who was born therealongside my wedding pattern, could hearthe constant sharpening of knives like some children hear the corn in their hometownstalking to them through the wind.The horizon is just the score they breathe throughlike a box of chickens breathing through a slit.