Nothing much to say about this book other than Sebald's own wish to remembered for his prose. These bits were mostly just pen put to paper, a recording of words more reportage than anything resembling fine poetry.
Unlike a lot of people whose introduction to the writing of W.G. Sebald was through books such as Rings of Saturn, Austerlitz, or Vertigo, mine was through the Micropoems in Unrecounted, a slim volume of thirty three poems, with accompanying lithographs by Jan Peter Tripp. So when I saw this Selecte...
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