Sing, Sing, Sing is unlike any recent first collection by an American poet. It goes against the grain of contemporary fashion by replacing prosaic narrative with a lyricism both symbolic and mysterious. This poet can appreciate experience as «the open/End of a bag fill/With ordinary things,» yet also he has an ear for «a watch that goes on ticking/Underground,» the shadow of history that lies across the present. Murphy manifests a sense of responsibility for protecting the spirit of lost people...
