Matthew Zapruder

Come on All You Ghosts

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“Charming, melancholy, hip.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Zapruder's innovative style is provocative in its unusual juxtapositions of line, image and enjambments. … Highly recommended.”—Library Journal
Matthew Zapruder's third book mixes humor and invention with love and loss, as when the breath of a lover is compared to «a field of titanium gravestones / growing warmer in the sun.” The title poem is an elegy for the heroes and mentors in the poet's life—from David Foster Wallace to the poet's father. Zapruder's poems are direct and surprising, and throughout the book he wrestles with the desire to do well, to make art, and to face the vast events of the day.
Look out scientists! Today the unemployment rateis 9.4 percent. I have no idea what that means. I triedto think about it harder for a while. Thentried standing in an actual stance of mysteryand not knowing towards the world.Which is my job. As is staring at the back yardand for one second believing I am actuallyrising away from myself. Which is maybewhat I have in common right now with you . . .
Matthew Zapruder holds degrees from Amherst College, UC Berkeley, and the University of Massachusetts. He is the author of two previous books, including The Pajamaist, which won the William Carlos Williams Award and was honored by Library Journal with a “Best Poetry Book of the Year” listing. He lives in San Francisco and is an editor at Wave Books.
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58 printed pages
Original publication
2012
Publication year
2012
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Quotes

  • Nicté Toxquihas quoted3 years ago
    Sad News
    We have some sad news this morning

    from Mars. But I’m thinking about lions. Someone

    said something salient and my head became

    a light bulb full of power exactly

    the shape of my head.
  • Nicté Toxquihas quoted3 years ago
    Houston is full of dead elephants

    and empty labs experimenting on silence, open any mouth

    and out blows some hope in a binary data stream.
  • Nicté Toxquihas quoted4 years ago
    And we don’t have that

    technology yet. The scientists

    who can dream of building it

    have not yet even been born. So

    for now I say to her let us live

    here in this apartment and make

    sounds of love on this futon

    while outside the window the orange

    extension cable strangles

    the white and green flowering branch

    and monks cry anciently on the radio.

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