On a podcast I’m listening to, a man says there were only eight shots fired but another man says, no, there had to be more. A third man says he thinks someone might have gotten to the first man.
In turns unsettling and funny, Oliver Driscoll’s debut collection is a testament to the mundane resonances of contemporary life and language. Driscoll’s wry eye captures the subtle whimsy of the everyday, while exploring the capacity of its language to disturb the field of human meaning.
Driscoll rubs language against the things of the world to make poems that are restless, sidelong, roundabout, fluky and overall, pretty wonderful.—Carrie Tiffany
Driscoll’s work captures the beauty and the repetitions of the everyday: the fragments, exchanges, and observations that define the extraordinary and quotidian. The poems here are familiar and unsettling, images that echo and evoke both the ordinary and a profound suggestion of something other, a haunting liminality. There is a quality to these weaving, interconnected narratives; strikingly spare, lingering, surreal yet anchored in the material, the concrete details of the real. —Alyson Miller