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From the reviews of Lemon Peeled the Moment
Before
"If Henry James had had a love child with Emily Dickinson,
you know the kid would have written like this."
Reagan Upshaw in BLOOMSBURY REVIEW, March/April 2009.
For the full review click here
"seamless and shapely
poems...An acute observer of the human condition...
this poet's diction is plain spoken, finding the elegant in the
ordinary."
Elaine Sexton, from Ron Slate's website, "On the Seawall," March
29, 2010.
For full review click here
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From
the reviews of Half/Mask
"Roger Mitchell's Half/Mask
provides examples of three ways beyond cadences that
poets today heighten the impact of the common
language." Marion K. Stocking Beloit Poetry
Journal For the full review click
here
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From the book jacket, Delicate Bait,
2003
"We want a book—be it a work of
fiction or poetry—to remind us how varied and complex our experience of
the world can be at times. And yet when we encounter such a book, we
realize how rarely we come across one that fits that description and how
astonishing it is when we do. Roger Mitchell's Delicate Bait is
such a book. Not many poets now writing have as wide a range as he does,
both in terms of subject matter and form. His poems are rich in detail,
masterly in execution, and always a good read. He is savvy about the way
we Americans live and try to make sense of our lives in this moment in
history."
—Charles Simic
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From the reviews of Delicate Bait
"I've seen Mitchell's strong
collection called The Word For Everything, his experiments with
longer poems in Braid and shorter ones in Savage Baggage,
and in each case have found a welcoming intelligence, at times an
illuminating oddness, or perhaps it is a realistic vision of oddness in
ordinary things.... There are levels of mastery that don't bang drums and
raise a fuss. Mitchell is such a good writer, so unpretentiously devoted
to alertness in words, that he leaves his readers more pleasure than
exegetical work."
—David Mason, Hudson
Review
West Branch Review of Delicate Bait,
Spring/Summer 2005
Like Elizabeth Bishop,
with her extravagant, precisely textured similes, Mitchell uses
description more to create reality, to give shape to the inner
life, than to reflect it. Indeed, in what we might take as the
thesis statement for this book, Mitchell writes in the poem
"An Afternoon Walk," "If you must know something,
says the tableau / of our days, you may have to make it up."
We go to "the supreme fiction," according to Mitchell,
not just for the hell of it, but as a means of inquiry. In
that inquiry, there is something of Milosz's "archive of
existence," a rescuing of things ruined or lost and a
reclaiming of people emblematized by these vanished objects.
Mitchell takes on shopping malls, a photograph of taxi dancer by
Margaret Bourke-White, and a Museum of Local History, all in
"plain American which cats and dogs can read," as
Marianne Moore would say. Click
Here to view complete review
Karen Kovacik in West
Branch
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From the reviews of Savage
Baggage
"Aside from the superior influences
Mitchell has obviously absorbed and put to good use, he is an excellent
craftsman in his own right."
—Bob Grumman, American
Book Review
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"Mitchell has always been a poet of
powerful wit, frequently so dry as to be detected by only the most
sophisticated radar. His poems' wisdom is their reminder that there is
nothing funny about a joke: jokes, like poems, are things we create out of
the grave silence of wrestling with understanding. There are as few
intellects as gentle as Roger Mitchell's. Between the amusing and the
grave, husband and wife, between traveling and home, lie the synapses that
fire the unforgettable verse of Savage Baggage." CLICK
HERE for complete review.
—Dobby Gibson, Rain
Taxi
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From the reviews of Braid
"Language, in Braid, is its own
reality, based on a wide range of human perceptions and varying senses,
and we construct forms, however artificial and syllabic, based on them.
These become the forms we use to make sense of the confusing narratives of
our own lives."
—Chris Fischbach, Rain
Taxi
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"Mitchell consistently has good,
amateur sensing of the natural world, which is perfect for his and our
purposes, because we want a poem, not scumbled John Muir. These are fine
poems; the imagery holds his hearing of Keats and Pound and Paul Blackburn
together, a rare virtuosity."
—Andy Robbins, American
Book Review
"The promise of alternative worlds is
realized in Mitchell's sixth book, Braid...His response is to
become a kind of poet as roving reporter and an entity both earth-bound
and ether-bound, free to sweep in and out of various times and spaces, and
often seeming to occupy the space, or chasm, between signifier and
signified. Mitchell makes of the poem an open, and broken, field of words,
culture, whimsy, serious thought, natural objects, as everything becomes
part of a "wave passing through the sea/ dispersing energy and
gill." CLICK
HERE for complete review.
—B.J. McGrath, The
Spoon River Poetry Review
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From the reviews of The Word For
Everything
"This is Mitchell's fifth book, and in
many ways it represents that most pleasurable instance when a poet's
talent and vision truly fuse into something rare and powerful. Mitchell
has long been one of our most gifted and underappreciated poets. What
makes much of his work so memorable is the respect he has for language's
slow workings...though Mitchell's poems are often memory narratives, they
are as much about our need for narrative as they are about any particular
subject matter; and they are quiet poems, never insisting on our
attention. There are, however, few poets who deserve so much to be
listened to and trusted. Many of the poems in this collection are
about the now (as in "the here and now") and the then (as in
"back then"), through they never assume to propose what the then
means to the now. Rather, Mitchell's poems attempt to, and often
brilliantly succeed at, rendering the intersection of memory and the
living moment. He has a love for the patina of mystery that encases
details extracted from memory, and he uses the intermittent untethered
phrase (as the novelist James Salter does in his famous verbless
sentences) as a mimetic counterpart to the often contextless fragments we
retrieve from memory's nonlinear narrative. It's a stunning
technique, and the resulting poems dramatize how "[w]e want to be
where we are but we can't/quite find it" ("Segments of
Spine"). Mitchell suggests that this foiled longing is a
consequence of language, either its failure or ours. These poems
know that naming our world and our lives won't provide meaning, yet they
are in love with the reckless desire that fuels such naming, the desire
that makes poetry possible."
—James Harms, Antioch
Review
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"Mitchell's is an intellectually
probing quest, and he tells us repeatedly that the work is ongoing.
Sometimes the voice is so deadly serious it veers into wildly suggestive
parable. Sometimes it is wistful. In either voice, I hear the note of
bravery."
—Elizabeth Dodd, Tar
River Poetry
"Graveyards, police stations, steep
rocks to be climbed, roads traveled in less-than-reliable cars. All help
to create a darkly humored sense of exploration into places where things
may or may not be as they always have seemed. Each poem is a world where
the unexpected may happen at any moment."
—B.J. McGrath, The
Spoon River Poetry Review
"With a respectable, unpretentious
mysticism that can be spooky at the same time it makes us think, Mitchell
quiets down, waiting like a hunter for reality to slip between the dark
leaves down to the stream for an unguarded moment of water. Bracing these
lyric speculations are a fine lot of beautifully invoked images and tones
of the natural world at the heart of darkness, reminiscent of Roethke and
Merwin."
—Black Water Review
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From the reviews of Clear Pond
"Roger Mitchell writes with a poet's
eye for exact detail in his absorbing new book about his search for Israel
Johnson—a ghostly presence who comes to haunt the reader as much as he
did the author. Written with all the passion of an autobiography, Clear
Pond might easily be thought of as a detective story in which the
detective discovers himself at the center of a seeming crime. For the
author's investigations lay bare the poet himself, Roger Mitchell, whose
obsession becomes ours as well as his. It's a lovely book, richly layered
and beautifully written."
—Jay Parini
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"At the age of 45, poet Mitchell
decided to learn more about the place where he'd grown up, New York
State's Adirondack region. In his research, he found a name, place,
and date in a diary: Israel Johnson had built a sawmill at Clear Pond in
1836. Would it be possible to reconstruct this man's life and times?
In an intensive five-year search, Mitchell talked to historians and
librarians; studied census reports, deed books and war records; traced
family members and searched the National Archives. We rejoice when,
in 1986, he meets an 87-year-old great-grandson of Israel Johnson in the
town of Adirondack. A remarkable piece of historical detective work
and an engaging story, Mitchell's account offers valuable information for
others pursuing genealogical questions."
—Publisher's Weekly
"Clear Pond, which won the 1990
John Ben Snow Prize, is a biography, a memoir, and a work of history; it's
also a completely original, quirky book that's great fun to read. Roger
Mitchell—a widely published poet and professor at Indiana
University—grew up in the Adirondacks, to which he returned to do
research for a book of poetry. For reasons he's never fully been
able to fathom, he became obsessed with a man whose name he happened to
come across in his research. This man, Israel Johnson, had lived
during the 1800s in the woods of upstate New York, and had, for one
evening, entertained the party of men that had first climbed the highest
mountain in New York state." CLICK
HERE for complete review
—Janice Eidus, East Bay
Express
"This book is already a classic of
Adirondack literature."
—P.H. Malo
"Clear Pond explores an
intriguing notion. Reading about the history of the place where he
grew up, Roger Mitchell stumbles on a name. "A man. An
ordinary man, about whom nothing was known. He was neither related
to me nor alive in my lifetime...I found him in someone else's
diary." The man was Israel Johnson, Jr., the place was the
Adirondack Mountains of northern New York, and Mitchell's long search for
this stranger's history proves an odd yet appealing quest." CLICK
HERE for complete review.
—John R. Alden, Philadelphia
Inquirer
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From the reviews of Adirondack
"Mitchell gives us a
history of the Adirondacks, with the Indian languages, travelers'
accounts, songs and dances, diaries, museum artifacts, and the poet's own
deeply-rooted personal experience. It is a book that scholars will
respect, poets will admire, and general readers who care about our wild
history will cherish."
—Marion K. Stocking, Beloit
Poetry Journal
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"Mitchell experiments with a variety
of forms in Adirondack, mixing prose, narrative, and lyrical poetry
and alternating line lengths. Although mildly disconcerting, this
does not detract from what he is trying to say. Refreshingly, one is
not aware of the poet himself speaking, except at the beginning when, in
"How It Starts," he introduces the theme of discovery and
finally, in "Deciding to Go On," its consequence, the
internalization of what has been discovered. In the end the imagined
Adirondacks become more real than the actual. "I'm back to the
old stories, their facts rubbed smooth/with telling, the faces
indistinct," writes Mitchell. In "Of William Stillman
(1828-1901)" he says
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The wilderness dwindles (is
gone really)
under the human needs for it, Stillman
one of the last to feel there, as if by reversion,
the hush of creation, world before man.
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Mitchell's strongest poems are his dramatic
monologues. "Thomas Cole (1801-48) Talks About His Art"
and "The Monologues of Verplanck Colvin" are notable for the way
in which the narrators, artist and surveyor, view nature. Thomas
Cole speaks with a lyric grace:
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I wanted spring, at dawn, the
drops
still clinging to the bursting foliage.
As though the earth had risen from the sea
just then, and shook itself, and shook again.
The deer would not be slaughtered, not today,
the druids in the distance raised their arms.
This was the world, as it was given us,
Romantic, I suppose, but still real. "
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—Alice Wolf Gilborn,
Blueline
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From the reviews of A
Clear Space on a Cold Day
"Roger Mitchell, Director
of the Indiana University Writer's Conference, presents good, listenable
poems in his third collection. His poetry goes down smooth, is
always interesting, as in 'Visiting Country Graves with My Daughters' when
we drift
apart, calling the names of strangers, back
and forth, the day they came, the day they left.
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The first lines of
"Cinderella" ("When they found her prostrate in the garden,
talking to a beetle, they locked her in the loft") demonstrate how
well Mitchell catches the reader's attention."
CLICK
HERE for complete review.
—Dick Allen, American
Book Review
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From the reviews of Moving
"It is a rarer thing than
we imagine to call a spade a spade and in doing so find enough interesting
things to say about said spade to make the reader happy. And what is
surprising is how many of the grand topics Moving handles in this
way."
—Kathleen Wiegner, American
Poetry Review
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From the reviews of Letters
from Siberia and Other Poems
"Not only is there marked
facility in poetic form, and discipline of
line and image, but most importantly the poet's soul shows through. It is
one of deep commitment to humanity in its sufferings and injustices, which in
powerful understatement probes the reader's inner self....Surely Roger
Mitchell's book should find a place among the best of contemporary
writing."
—Milwaukee Journal
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Additional
Criticism
From The MacGuffin, Fall 2002:
His poems "seem to have been written
by a landscape artist, an inhabiter of vacant scenes that imbue the person
who happens upon them with a sudden awareness of the universe, of 'God's
unshaven face,' as one poem puts it. Consummately crafted, modest in size,
sharp in perception, the poems offer a windy world of images and
landscapes touched by human beings, but which question human influences
through an examination of the frail relics of civilization, like tables
left outside, or empty piers, or boarded-up hotels." —Molly Peacock
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