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| | Ploughshares, the literary journal |
 | | I first heard of Paul Muldoon through the affectionate enthusing of Seamus Heaney, who donned his conspiratorial mien—as if agents of some imagined opposition might be lurking near—and confided that his somewhat younger compatriot was “the real thing.” I sought the work out, though I’ll confess I was some time coming to it. |
 | | On top of everything else, Muldoon is, in his poems, a retriever of the golden fact, a breaker-open of the habit-encrusted outer shell of words, a maker of Cornell collages from the materials of perception and recollection. |
 | | Muldoon speaks of giving himself over “to the force of language, for which one is a conduit or medium.” He does add, however, that “the ‘divining’ metaphor breaks down in the sense that the rod is at once unknowing. |
| www.pshares.org /issues/article.cfm?prmArticleID=4886 (1725 words) |
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