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Copper Canyon Press, 2009
Lisa Olstein's second collection of poems, Lost Alphabet, is a fascinating
and inventive exploration of observation. This collection of quiet,
intense prose poems is presented as the notes of a scientist who has
gone to an unnamed foreign village to study moths. These notes lead
us into the speaker's engrossing fascination with these creatures of flight
and light. The careful, alluring observations take on the weight of philosophy
and religion in the voice of the speaker, who also reflects on
being an outsider. While trying to piece together how things work in
the world through the smallest of details, the speaker exposes the path
to obsession. The vivid yet mysterious voice of the book draws the
trajectory of going ever deeper into intense thought, until the world
becomes the smallest flutter of a wing. Statements that at first seem to
be about the world are applied to studying moths and then jump back
outward again, as in the following lines:
Any shift in philosophy introduces the need for new habits
of body. I am learning how gently to lift them, to turn
them swiftly and rest them again, on their wings, wings to
table, which I sand smooth each morning. . . It is a strange
gymnastics, their bodies, mine: what to grasp, when to release,
the nature of a turn, the will of the whole channeled into the
fingertips.
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