Someone googled "Tony Hoagland, racist" to get here. Going back to that search line, I ended up on this page:
Hoagland does not in the end eschew audience; his poems read as if he envisions a liberal-minded readership to willfully irritate, not seduce: he's not a lover, he's a fighter. But then, just as he begins to wrestle, he does an about-face, as if he knows he can only push the envelope so far, as if he knows what's at stake is the fragility of his own self-hood.

Written by Major Jackson.
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