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Carlos Marzal. Fuera de mí. 2004.

Just when I was feeling that there was something valuable in every book of poetry this book came along and showed me my limits. It is pretentious, overwritten, needlessly abstract. And it won some important prize.

I'm sure this is very good poetry, for someone who likes this kind of thing. There's definitely a lot of effort and expertise gone into it. It's like parallel universe poetry--what poetry would be in some other universe where poetry is like that. That should be a good thing--but it resembles too much the overwrought poetry of my own world.

The title means "Outside of me." But he never gets outside of himself.