This collection provides readers with a perpetually exciting, compact edition of the revolutionary poet's most powerful work. Frederick Seidel has been hailed as 'the poet of a new contemporary form' (New York Review of Books), and 'the most frightening American poet ever' (Boston Review). His ambitious, disturbing and tender work has mystified and captured critics, poets and readers for decades. Select Seidel allows readers to appreciate the scope of Seidel's work over the past half-century and his uncanny ability to say the unsayable. Seidel is, in the words of the critic Adam Kirsch, 'the best American poet writing today'.

These are the collected poems of a master whose work includes many of the most compelling, savage, and tender poems in the language. Frederick Seidel is, in the words of the critic Adam Kirsch, "the best American poet writing today."

Seidel is the great controversialist of American poetry. Dubbed a 'transgressive adventurer,' a 'demonic gentleman,' a 'triumphant outsider,' a 'great poet of innocence,' and 'an example of the dangerous Male of the Species', his sly, witty and wide-eyed poems seem earnest one moment and flippant the next, and will see him rotating his caustic fire from high-society cocktail parties to street-level poverty, genocide to Obamacare, New York to Syria. He's never more than a turn-line from humour, and it is often when he is at his funniest that he is also at his most shocking.The Independent said of his last collection: 'There is no contemporary poet writing in English as witty, as shrewd, as touching and as debonair as Frederick Seidel. That's a lot of praise, but he surely merits it.'Widening Income Inequality, Seidel's new collection, is a rhymed magnificence of sexual, historical, and cultural exuberance. Rarely has poetry been this dapper, or this dire, or this true.

This is the End of Days.

This is what we've been waiting for always.

I walked over to the Hudson River, heading for Mars.

Each poem of mine is a suicide belt.

I say that to my girlfriend Life.

Peaches Goes It Alone, Frederick Seidel's newest collection of poems, begins with global warming and ends with Aphrodite. In between is everything. Peaches Goes It Alone presents the sexual and political themes that have long preoccupied Seidel - and thrilled and offended his readers. Lyrical, grotesque, and elegiac, Peaches Goes It Alone adds new music and menace to Seidel's masterful body of work.

'Something is going on. Something is wrong.' - 'Night' Frederick Seidel - the 'ghoul' (Chicago Review), the 'triumphant outsider' (Contemporary Poetry Review) - returns with a dangerous new collection of poems. Nice Weather presents the sexual and political themes that have long preoccupied Seidel - and thrilled and offended his readers. Lyrical, grotesque, elegiac, this book adds new music and menace to his masterful body of work.

'Seidel grips the twentieth century between his teeth like a blade as he speaks. He is one of the more formidable poets of the last third of the century.' Calvin Bedient, Poetry 'He is scary, but funny, but scary. You would have go back to confessional masters like Lowell and Berryman to find poetry as daringly self-revealing, as risky and compelling, as the best of Frederick Seidel's.' Adam Kirsch, The New York Sun 'The moral thrills of his poetry can be as daunting as the moral spills, the cruel intelligence of glamour as alluring as the mystical stillness that is somewhere also at the heart of his poetry.' Adam Phillips, Raritan 'The poems in Ooga-Booga are the richest yet and read like no one else's: they're surreal, utterly unpretentious, and suffused with the peculiar American loneliness of Raymond Chandler. While I can think of a more likable book of poems, I can scarcely imagine a better one.' Alex Halberstadt, New York magazine 'Ooga-Booga is as beguiling and magisterial as anything Seidel has written. I can't decide whether he has more in common with Philip Larkin or John Ashbery, but the fact that Seidel can prompt such a bizarre question is more revealing than any possible answer.' The New York Times Book Review

A stunning new collection from the "beguiling and magisterial" poet ("The New York Times Book Review")

"Something is going on. Something is wrong."

Frederick Seidel--the "ghoul" ("Chicago Review"), the "triumphant outsider" ("Contemporary Poetry Review")--returns with a dangerous new collection of poems. "Nice Weather "presents the sexual and political themes that have long preoccupied Seidel--and thrilled and offended his readers. Lyrical, grotesque, elegiac, this book adds new music and menace to his masterful body of work.

"The best American poet writing today"* "The title itself--a parody of a threat, something the monster under the bed might grunt--manages to capture the weird dialectic of Mr. Seidel's black comedy: He is scary, but funny, but still scary . . . You would have go back to confessional masters like Lowell and Berryman to find poetry as daringly self-revealing, as risky and compelling, as the best of Frederick Seidel's." --*Adam Kirsch, "The New York Sun
""The poems in "Ooga-Booga "are [Seidel's] richest yet and read like no one else's: They're surreal without being especially difficult, and utterly unpretentious, suffused with the peculiar American loneliness of Raymond Chandler . . . [The poem 'Barbados'] is the loveliest Seidel has written to date, and he's perfected the subtle rhythms and rhymes that rocket the stanzas forward like his Ducati 916 SPS. While I can think of a more likable book of poems, I can scarcely imagine a better one." --Alex Halberstadt, "New York "magazine
"["Ooga-Booga "is] as beguiling and magisterial as anything [Seidel] has written. I can't decide whether Seidel has more in common with Philip Larkin or John Ashbery, but the fact that he can prompt such a bizarre question is more revealing than any possible answer." --Joel Brouwer, "The New York Times Book Review"

"You Can't Like Seidel's Poems--They're Deliberately Virulent; You Can Only Gasp At Their Skill And Daring, Their Sickening Warp, Their Mercilessness."*

Frederick Seidel's highly acclaimed Cosmos Trilogy is a triple thunderclap of darkness from the poet whom Richard Poirier has recently called "the true heir of Walt Whitman" and of whose first book Robert Lowell wrote "[I] suspect the possibilities of modern poetry have been changed. Here is power that strikes." Reversing the course of Dante's Divine Comedy, Seidel's trilogy begins in the heavens, with The Cosmos Poems, and descends, passing through the Purgatorio of Life on Earth to arrive in Manhattan in Area Code 212.

Occasional Wild Parties brings together Sam Riviere, one of the most discussed of the new generation of British poets, whose 'post-internet' poetry sees him acting now as scribe, now as DJ, taking in everything from technologized romance to celebrity culture as filtered through Kim Kardashian's make-up routine; the 'elegant ghoul' Frederick Seidel, zooming through the dark underbelly of international high society on his Ducati racing bike; and the wonderfully observant Kathryn Maris, whose work ranges with a dark wit over incomprehensible deities, wayward mothers, the politics of children's sports contests, and psychoanalysis. All three lift the lid on their corners of civilized society to show the less glittering realities that lie just beneath the surface. "On the verge of perpetrating acts of artistic barbarism "I perceived a spoon as the title of a plate of food" - SAM RIVIERE, 'Mindfulness' "Deer garter-belt across our vision And stand there waiting for our decision. "Our only decision was how to cook the venison. I am civilized but I see the silence And write the words for the thought balloon." - FREDERICK SEIDEL, 'Kill Poem' "The man in the basement wrote stories about heroin. The woman in the attic read stories with heroines. The woman in the attic noticed a bruise that ran from the top to the base of her thigh. The bruise looked like Europe. The man in the basement was in love with the sister of the secretive man who loved him more. He whooped to the woman, 'You killed your student?' To himself he wept, 'I killed my father.'" - KATHRYN MARIS, 'The House with Only an Attic and a Basement'