The Post-Apollo Press
Original Language(s)
Additional Credits
Cover art & book design by Simone Fattal
Edition, Year
First Edition, 2003
In Print

From the Contemporary Poetry Series #1 

9:45 is a panegyric of encoded worlds which begins at the LCD readout and whirs elliptically towards the supernumerary.

Kit Robinson
Kit Robinson is a Bay Area poet, writer and musician. He is the author of Quarantina (Lavender Ink, 2022), Thought Balloon (Roof, 2019), Leaves of Class (Chax, 2017) and Marine Layer (BlazeVOX, 2015), and 20 other books of poetry. ... Read More

Praise for 9:45

Honed, focused attention, cognitive torque and dry humor. Robinson plays off of numbers as particular instances and pivots of thought and memory. The numbers also function as nodal points of subject matter—often records of money and time as poetic opening devices—with the dimensions of life and thought opened by these particulars recombining. The numbers measure mundane given conditions and stamp them with a particular signature, and the fact of their perception—rent due in a particular apartment (first last and security) / at a certain time in life (age “29”)/ the number of messages on an answering machine. These things become inseparable from the branched interconnections of poetic meaning and chains of thought through linked classes of subject matter. Elements and details are broken down, but not as fragments—not as reflections of a damaged whole immediacy—”daily mind”—set on puree. Memories, meditations, and questions. It’s impressive how much context and thought Robinson can compress into so few words.

— Drew Gardner

The obvious and subtle reality of the numerical entity is noted with both humor and insight by Kit Robinson in 9:45. In short timed lines he shows how omnipresent is this intersection of the mysterious, abstract, yet concrete world of the “number” with everyday life.

— Joanne Kyger

Kit Robinson’s new 9:45 has arrived—American energy braked by reason in wit’s clothes on 21st Century City ramp-up. Here, in the “architecture” of clock time, commuting time, anytime, the daily metonymy points to process and revved-up consciousness—”as they say / Almost human.” Whistling sporty, muscular quizzical, these poems suggest a Quixote debriefing subplots, or Zen henchman posting human zip codes, dynamite sure sentence heroics, skilled and fiercely generous.

— Abigail Child

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