| Author: | Mel Vil | ISBN: | 9782954512556 |
| Publisher: | E. M. Crisp | Publication: | May 28, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Mel Vil |
| ISBN: | 9782954512556 |
| Publisher: | E. M. Crisp |
| Publication: | May 28, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
This second volume of poetry exposes Vil's general perspective on life. Inside insight delves into his outlook on matters of personal life, world view and the human condition, far removed from the focused works of Buenos Aires and the Origins of Sausse.
Divided into four parts, this volume adopts a figurative structure that harks after Poe's House of Usher. Beginning in the garden, we find a stark desolation that surrounds his abode. With his typical directness, he drags us immediately not to the drawing room or the study, but straight to the bedroom, where his collection of portrait trophies hangs. Another twist has the reader pulled through a metaphysical wall and into the city. This is of course a metaphor and the volume concludes with 'My own personal hell.'
There is little for the timid or weak of heart. Nor will the optimist find much grist for his or her mill. There are sparks, but not of hope. They are the kind which start disagreements ending in red-mist. Driven, too far, without reason. Scarred, too early, without resolution. Inside there may be insight, but there is nothing to envy in viewing the world from this man's point of view.
This second volume of poetry exposes Vil's general perspective on life. Inside insight delves into his outlook on matters of personal life, world view and the human condition, far removed from the focused works of Buenos Aires and the Origins of Sausse.
Divided into four parts, this volume adopts a figurative structure that harks after Poe's House of Usher. Beginning in the garden, we find a stark desolation that surrounds his abode. With his typical directness, he drags us immediately not to the drawing room or the study, but straight to the bedroom, where his collection of portrait trophies hangs. Another twist has the reader pulled through a metaphysical wall and into the city. This is of course a metaphor and the volume concludes with 'My own personal hell.'
There is little for the timid or weak of heart. Nor will the optimist find much grist for his or her mill. There are sparks, but not of hope. They are the kind which start disagreements ending in red-mist. Driven, too far, without reason. Scarred, too early, without resolution. Inside there may be insight, but there is nothing to envy in viewing the world from this man's point of view.
