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Karl Cointreaux's free verse casually touches on a variety of subjects that all relate to a bleak romantic realism grounded in absurdist and pessimistic philosophy. In a painfully candid voice that somehow manages to blend innocence and vulgarity, he explores his tender feelings for girl-next-door and pop-culture-icon alike, or bitterly muses about the alienation of the unambitious artist in a harsh modern world of business and competition – and always comes back to his mundane, bitter-sweet favorite: alcohol. His first collection of poetry, Gutting the Siren, Disbudding the Unicorn, contains for the most part never before published works created between 2005 and 2012 that could be placed somewhere between Bukowski, Jim Carroll and the Beats: a weird counterculture composite of intoxicated self-discovery and bohemian outrage, playfully interspersed with aloof metaphysical contemplations on futility, showcasing a precocious, self-deprecating cynicism that, despite everything, can be genuinely funny.
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Gutting the siren, disbudding the unicorn, Karl Cointreaux
- Sprache
- Erscheinungsdatum
- 2016
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- Titel
- Gutting the siren, disbudding the unicorn
- Sprache
- Englisch
- Autor*innen
- Karl Cointreaux
- Verlag
- BHN Books
- Erscheinungsdatum
- 2016
- ISBN10
- 3945286018
- ISBN13
- 9783945286012
- Reihe
- BHN Books
- Kategorie
- Lyrik
- Beschreibung
- Karl Cointreaux's free verse casually touches on a variety of subjects that all relate to a bleak romantic realism grounded in absurdist and pessimistic philosophy. In a painfully candid voice that somehow manages to blend innocence and vulgarity, he explores his tender feelings for girl-next-door and pop-culture-icon alike, or bitterly muses about the alienation of the unambitious artist in a harsh modern world of business and competition – and always comes back to his mundane, bitter-sweet favorite: alcohol. His first collection of poetry, Gutting the Siren, Disbudding the Unicorn, contains for the most part never before published works created between 2005 and 2012 that could be placed somewhere between Bukowski, Jim Carroll and the Beats: a weird counterculture composite of intoxicated self-discovery and bohemian outrage, playfully interspersed with aloof metaphysical contemplations on futility, showcasing a precocious, self-deprecating cynicism that, despite everything, can be genuinely funny.