72 pgs, Cover by Tim Davis, Coco Fitterman, & the author
Cover design by Dirk Rowntree
Rob Fitterman apes Edward Gibbon--but instead of restating the fall of the Roman state in words of his own, Fittermsn speaks only in the readymade discourse found by chance, verbatim, amind the ruins of the imperial, American marketplace. Fitterman teaches us that when in Rome, do as the Ramones do. Clamber to the top of the tallest edifice in the city and, like a king, beat your chest, roaring out against circling biplanes. History has becomes the most disquieting infomerical.
Metropolis XXX is, any way you slice it, a 3-D (document/drama/dynamite) surround-sound urbanity of now. What does it mean for an outstanding prosodic precisionist of our times to push craft beyond all limits, to this realm of sheer evidence and acoustics? If twentieth-century verse used quanta for measure, today's is a prosody of "shotgun sequencing," (to quote Craig Venter) where characterization means sales. Fitterman's is the first volume I've seen to embody that challenge. An exhibitionary exuberance of stadium seating, priced to move.