Hung Q. Tu
Hung Q. Tu's poems push the mind into a nest of steel rods all hitting the surface of an unknown shape at the same moment: political and quotidian, in language demotic and arcane they acutely render the beauty of scorn.
Hung Q. Tu's poetic modules are not "pieces" in the traditional sense--that is, thematically staged, subjectively actored and assumedly audienced, they are more like an intelligent arraying of graffiti that you'd run into in a modern city's sub-throughway, perhaps a bit run-down, but with a shiny glass building across the street--that is, a city intra-imperialized in every way, its complicit fractals, its bio-bit patois scrawled all about. O reader, are you, in a post-massification frame of mind, but as yet, having nothing to massify-to-this-evening? Then hunker down with Tu's latest gallery of searing wit and deadpan social observations. Here's not (in the web sense), a "content rich" pixelscape of vain wonderies, but rather, the very packets of that packet-switching on the broadband of globalist ideology. Ping ping? Yup