"Since the death of Robert Lowell in 1977, no single figure has
dominated American poetry the way that Lowell, or before him Eliot,
once did . . . But among the many writers who have come of age in
our fin de si cle, none have succeeded more completely as poet,
critic, and translator than Robert Pinsky." --James Longenbach, The
Nation With all the generosity and mastery we have come to expect
from our three-time Poet Laureate, Robert Pinsky has written a
bold, lyrical meditation on identity and culture as hybrid and
fluid, violent as well as creative: the enigmatic, maybe universal,
condition of the foundling. At the Foundling Hospital considers the
foundling soul: its need to be adopted, and its need to be
adaptive. These poems reimagine identity on the scale of one life
or of human history: from "the emanation of a dead star still
alive" to the "pinhole iris of your mortal eye." What is a
particular person? How unique? What is anyone born as? Born with?
Born into? The poems of Robert Pinsky's At the Foundling Hospital
engage personality and culture as improvised from loss: a creative
effort so pervasive it can be invisible.
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