At least that's the story, which, I guess, is also what these poems are about. Their etymological mission
to stall their own miscarriage using the accrued power
of old words, objects seemingly empty I can shake
for noise. How a fifteenth century noun for "cotton-linen
stiffened with glue" is also an eighteenth century verb
"to give the false appearance of strength." As in, I hope
I haven't buckramed my stanzas with such long lines.
The elegance, verbal felicitousness, and subtle crafting that were the signature qualities of Carmine Starnino's debut, The New World, are once again on display in his second book, Credo. Whether the subject is a passport, a clothesline, an antique goblet, prayer, or archaic English words, Starnino exercises an arresting mixture of wit and wordplay that rejoices in its own resources, its own cadence and diction. Credo places Starnino in the forefront of a new generation of Canadian poets.