This masterful confusion of material and immaterial animates the book, and the dispassion about the self allows the writer to enact a number of equally lovely sleights of hand. Many of the poems skate across the surface tension of this conflict: namely, that to talk about trauma, to delineate its causes and stylize its effects, is to obscure the lovely dilemma of empiricism, of seeing and knowing. Even while the author is drawn to image and reason, she is also in love with the vanishing point, where all perspective is ecstatically compressed into a single node. Thus, the standard lyric exhaust of “your ash breath in the air” is “translated elsewhere…” (“Commissioned”). I found myself admiring the many ways Gabbert’s rhetoric points off-stage, indicating that absence is the most intellectually erotic product.We (me, the Birds boys) couldn't be happier. Well, theoretically, we probably could be, but it would require advanced pharmaceuticals and liquid money.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Another review of TFE
September 1 is Review The French Exit Day, it would seem. Simeon Berry's review is now up on Gently Read Literature: