Dwight Garner of the The New York Times says
Mr. Robbins’s heart is not lovely but beating a bit arrhythmically; not dark but lighted by a dangling disco ball; not deep but as shallow and alert as a tidal buoy facing down a tsunami. Yet it’s a heart crammed full, like a goose’s liver, with pagan grace. This man can write.
And Sasha Frere-Jones says
You may notice the cultural references first — Guns N’ Roses, Eric B. & Rakim, Fleetwood Mac, M*A*S*H, Star Wars — and be tempted to tie Robbins to these anchors. But there are as many contemporary references in Eliot and Pound and Horace as there are in Robbins: carbon-dating isn’t what distinguishes these poems. Robbins works in traditional and nontraditional forms that pivot on the beat, which he turns around, seamlessly and ruthlessly. The thread here is a long-distance conversation crammed into the available enjambment, as charged as the pop songs that play beneath the words.
Monologue topics: Patrick Swayze, tweets, drones.
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Photo credit: Clayton Hauck | Chicago Reader