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Litzine, Peter Marrack 18 pgs,, $20

When reading Peter Marrack’s work, one almost feels he is deciphering a kind of literary code. His seemingly random use of capitalization — not necessarily a distraction, but certainly an anomaly — is almost as distorted as the charcoal drawings that divide and surround his poetry. Marrack includes eight untitled poems in this collection, but they tend to blur together into a single note of sad music. “It’s thAt sociAL timE of yEar and / we’rE in thE city — a momEnt sincE / I cAred — it’s all nothing AnywAy” sounds an awful lot like “you usEd mE girl / just AnothEr girL / it makES mE borEd”, which is to say it sounds melodramatic. Marrack’s charcoal drawings, which surround the poetry, appear to be tracings from Toronto buildings created with the same technique archivists use to trace and preserve tombstones on paper. Blown up to wide proportions — as they are here — they become incomprehensible, rendered into black static by the photocopier. There is certainly something interesting in this artwork, but it is paired too closely with the poetry, and the combination leaves much to be desired. Corpse may not be able to justify its $20 price tag, but it is far from unreadable. Marrack’s poetry reads a little overwrought, but his artwork holds a trace of something more substantial. (Joel W. Vaughan)

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