Michael Zoch writes radically subjective poems whose raw, at times laconically melancholic darkness is bound not to any poetics but solely to their own necessity. They are also often erotically charged, an “I” and a “you” encounter one another, and as the female and male poles, they together ignite the poem’s inner spark—or contribute to its bitterness. In doing so, the poet occasionally works with obscene expressions drawn from everyday language to lend the poem an earthy, brash quality. The poems speak from behind the surface of things, from the world of things in themselves, they are, in essence, highly concentrated, magical incantations that, as such, sing of the soul of the moment.
