"In these eventually late/last poems Jim Brodey invokes the names of companion spirits taken to heart among the here and gone and underwrites each with analogous song. As if finding the world, he returns the revelation and invites: Gather us now in this sensate deluge, and then some."
­ Bill Berkson

"Language is not a magazine or a gang of poets, but a refreshing of life, after all. Certain artists -- one thinks of Joseph Ceravolo, Dick Gallup, Ron Padgett -- have been nearly suppressed and their technical innovations and linguistic turns attributed to later dogmatists. Brodey is one of these significant poets. He took Frank O'Hara's empirical personism, collaborated, as it were, with the jazzy autotelic clusters of Clark Coolidge and Ceravolo, and finally emerged before his death from AIDS with synthetic, satirical, muscular elegies of a late turbulence. His poetry is wildly erotic and convincingly strange with an idiosyncratic breadth and violence matched by his themes of loves "fundamentally tender." I hope this dense document begins the work of tearing "language" from any clique or cabal and restoring a sense of the accomplishment of the kind of artists once characterized by Ron Sillman as "disappeared poets." With this volume, the independent alarming and expansive Brodey makes a permanent appearance."
­ David Shapiro

"His zigzag is unearthly, sometimes. Not just word / nerve / combinations, but flowing structures to amaze the gloom of lower Manhattan. The discipline inherent in Kerouac's locomotive meditations (which looks so easy when read), is fed-back to him, but in mad overdubbing stanzas. Brodey's book is a flying horse of wild crab language served up by a poet already well-versed in how a poem walks." ­ Ted Berrigan