Thursday, May 5, 2011
Simply put, TOM CURRY is one of my favorite poets. he is an unrepentant iconoclast, continually honing his unique blend of philosophical hair splitting tempered with uncompromising and unapologetic bohemian rancor. His poetry is primarily concerned with the realm of thought, doggedly wrestling with those grand ideas that lie at the center of most things; however, these are not dry philosophical treatises. He approaches thought the way a painter approaches a blank canvas, distilling the rushing tableau of ideas into planes and intersecting lines: form, space and proportion. Like a painter, Tom chooses his vantage point and his palette carefully in order to illuminate the barest sliver of what is possible in order to hint at what might otherwise be overwhelmingly incomprehensible.
There is a frantic quality to Tom Curry's ravings and an unrelenting rage bubbling up from deep recesses of frustration and disgust; nevertheless, what is most remarkable about his work is not the driving sense of urgency steeped into every line. Rather, it is the pervasive sense of understatement. His uncanny reticence, in spite of everything: his economy of words and his unsparing need to stick to the point. Given the grand scope of Tom Curry's vision, that's quite an achievement.