"Sing, Sing, Sing" is unlike any recent first collection by an
American poet. It goes against the grain of contemporary fashion by
replacing prosaic narrative with a lyricism both symbolic and
mysterious. This poet can appreciate experience as "the open/End of
a bag fill/With ordinary things," yet also he has an ear for "a
watch that goes on ticking/Underground," the shadow of history that
lies across the present. Murphy manifests a sense of responsibility
for protecting the spirit of lost people and lost things. But in
their concern for posterity, his poems use language to forge a
memory of the future. This ethical impulse, "the voice of the
conscious heart," gives rise to a poetry which is, even when most
admonitory, compassionate. Murphy explores our involvement in
history as its doers, sufferers, and writers. Hence his poetry is
at the intersection of the personal and that sense of our anonymity
together in which "anyone can write my story," The title, "Sing,
Sing, Sing," hints at the imperative music that characterizes these
poems.
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