SOURCE: Newey, Adam. “Walking on Air.” New Statesman 130, no. 4541 (11 June 2001): 70-1.

In the following review of Poems 1968-1998, Newey contends that Muldoon's “ludic” poetry often lacks “any substantial core” and risks falling into self-parody.

I worry about Paul Muldoon. I mean, on the one hand, here is a poet of extravagant gifts, a true original who delights in weaving lexical patterns of great wit and complexity; on the other, we have someone who thinks it enough to construct a poem (albeit a brief one) around an agonisingly laboured pun on “Armagh” and “Armani.”

In one sense, that coupling gives the trajectory of his own journey, from low-key Catholic childhood in rural Ulster to high-status stateside professorship (he has been based at Princeton since 1987). Later this year he turns 50, and Faber has brought out this collection of his eight published volumes, which makes it a good moment to assess...