A bold, new poet to be noted, identified, and saluted with a certain hilarity, S. X. Rosenstock advises her readers to "abandon all anxiety of allusion catching" and "let the poems work their cooing, buzzing, garrulous way into your innocent ears." Compared by Richard Howard to Florine Stettheimer in terms of her pallette and her impasto, Rosenstock delights in the preposterous, the unavailing, and the not-to-be-cloned as she moves among the monuments and the ruins of society in verses that beguile the ear, leap-frog grammatical barriers, and prod Wharton and Plath into patterns subservient to her whim. All the while this talented poet challenges patriarchal codes and reveals authentic sources of pleasure.
S. X. Rosenstock writes poetry and essays in Los Angeles, where she lives with her husband and daughter. Her work has appeared in the Paris Review, the Antioch Review, and other publications.
"Rosenstock has cerated her own quirky nomenclature of experience, her own wisecracking erotics of art, by rummaging through what she calls 'the troves of culture's treasures.' She has given us a verbal universe where artists are antically associated, where the spirit sashays forth and the sidestreets of excess—filled with the wild signs and clamorous voices, imaginative roads not taken—all turn up at the palace of wisdom."—Edward Hirsch
"Imagine the Divine Comedy, Goblin Market, Divine Comedies, and Brock-Broido's Hunger, then join with them Rosenstock's prismatic music, and you will have United Artists."—Cynthia Macdonald