TIN WREATH has gone visually berserk. This always interesting but fairly polite mag has become a linguistic gestalt with this issue. Each 8 1/2 x 11" page has a poem or two but is filled with word fields of various sizes. Some of the fields are letter-chunks, some are magnified pieces of other poems in the magazine. The reader can mask away everything but the poems and have a normal reading experience of better than average poetry (including John Crouse, Sheila Murphy, and Jeffery Skeate), but the total experience of each page serves to redefine the processes of reading and perception. I am overwhelmed--dn
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #5,
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