This was lovely, and I even love its faults beyond the virtues of (some) other poetry. That doesn't mean I won't go into them, though: in spite of his relentlessly undisciplined structuring, Cohen still managed to make me feel towards the end of the book that I was just reading the same thing over and over again. Don't get me wrong - that thing is a great thing, but it was sad that he ran out of steam. I suppose it's foolish to expect the genius of his earlier work to sustain itself, but still.

That said, I'd recommend this to anyone, and like looking at the spine on my bookshelf. I'll certainly dip into it again, and it will be mega.

This was lovely, and I even love its faults beyond the virtues of (some) other poetry. That doesn't mean I won't go into them, though: in spite of his relentlessly undisciplined structuring, Cohen still managed to make me feel towards the end of the book that I was just reading the same thing over and over again. Don't get me wrong - that thing is a great thing, but it was sad that he ran out of steam. I suppose it's foolish to expect the genius of his earlier work to sustain itself, but still.

That said, I'd recommend this to anyone, and like looking at the spine on my bookshelf. I'll certainly dip into it again, and it will be mega.