C. K. WilliamsJames Richardson in How Things Are has devised a genuinely original music for his poems. Supple, sinuous, solid, it is equally fluent in the language of every day, and in an intellectual diction and a scientific lexicon unique to his voice. Second, or no, perhaps really first: there's a broad, probing, unusual intelligence in his work, an unusual kind of technical introspection and a wide ranging inspiration and content that use as their matter images and ideas from sources as far afield as ancient philosophy, and contemporary science and philosophy. Or perhaps it's all of that, together with Richardson's gift for unlikely metaphor and unwearied symbol, of quotidian detail and rhetorical expansiveness, that makes his poetry seem so immediately useful; it is work that brings news to us of packets of mental and emotional experience that haven't sung so well together in poetry for a longer time than one would care to think.
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