My Way_ Speeches and Poems - Charles Bernstein

88 A G A I N E I G N E R
a day"). Something like deep
focus, as if the poems had become
an organ, the sky bellows. Step by
step, slowly turning. Yet there is no
opening onto image here, no mime of
a rehearsal of a scene. Eigner's depth-offield
charges each page to hold its own,
"to have things whole". "to see / dark
the / invisible". Perception all right,
but not sun-drenched barns: "fishmongers",
"pigment", "air". If there's
narrative, it's narrative unhinged
of causal nexus, logical spools. Each
line rivets its moment & moves on, like
angels on the head of a quill pin, nor
looks ahead nor back, but "bangs" indissoluble
at precise splice ("each fief") that
bodies the moment from one to next. "to
negotiate the ocean drop by drop
if there were time". In adjacency
is act-uality: "you thought it was
as it is". Nuggets of sound carving
space. "Motion" "motor" "process"
"winds" "bells" "floating" "echoing"
"coursing" "falling" "roaming" "wading"
"spilling" "flying" "dazzling" "burning"
"unflagging" "blows" "stirs" "curves"
"spirals" "stagger" "dives" "slips"