Read this at least for 'The Confession of St. Jim-Ralph'.

"Whatever is most terrible is most real—
the Bible fights, The fetuses burning in light-bulbs,
the cunnilingual, intravenous
swamp of love." ( )

I read the majority of this book in the park, under a hot sun with a heavy heart. Johnson's poetry moves in dark circles around refrains of loss, self-deception and deep truths. These poems cut me to the chest and held my face to the page. There's nothing romantic in the boozing and reckless nature these poems contain - they're beautiful in the way a boarded-up country house can look in the right light.

"Sway" and "The Flames" are two immediate favourites — I know otherswill come to surface when I read this again. My thanks to Mason for giving me his copy of Jesus' Son two plus years ago. That was my ticket in. ( )

Typically I like collections of poetry that grab me by the throat immediately. I almost didn't get past part one of Denis Johnson's third collection of poetry, but I'm glad I did. The Incognito Lounge pulls you along through dimly lit corridors, and whispers the names of the seen and forgotten, a woman on the bus, or the man at the end of the bar. The collection culminates in the penultimate long poem "The Confessions of St. Jim-Ralph" which is somewhere between a biography and a prayer.

Denis Johnson is like a mad scientist of metaphor. He creates the most incredible, absurd, surreal metaphors that jolt you like an electric shock. ( )