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In her poems Sue Sorensen makes visits to the Village Vanguard jazz club in June 1961, to Freud’s study in London, to the novelist Henry James. Working her allusive and spirited way inside books and paintings, she has acute meetings with musicians, photographers, fictional characters—and most of all herself.
The weight of history lies on the spine of memory.
Catch-of-breath moments that stir exquisite awareness.
