by W.G. Sebald
Selected Poems, 1964–2001
Sebald groupie that I unashamedly am, I thought it was about time I tackled some of his poetry.
I'm not very good at reading poetry. I don't really get it. In fact, when it comes to certain poets, I more than half suspect there isn't all that much to get. But these poems were by Sebald, so I knew they would contain some wonderful insights, if only I could fathom them.
Although I did eventually manage to semi-understand the bit about tree frogs' ignoring their ladders, I read most of this book in open-mouthed incomprehension. I literally didn't have a clue what he was on about. In my defence, though, I was somewhat distracted by the whistling noise the poems kept making as they passed right over my head.
But I reckon I'll give them another shot some day. They were, after all, written by Sebald.