THE MOTIVATION FOR my deep dive into Victoria Chang this spring was that I was writing a review of this, her most recent book. That review will, I hope, be appearing before too long in a blog much more prestigious than this one, and I do not wish to scoop myself, so I won't be saying much here except, damn, another fine collection.
The volume consists mainly of ekphrastic poems on paintings by Agnes Martin, but these are ekphrastic poems in the sense that the obituaries of Obit are obituaries...that is, only up to a point, after which point they become springboards to various locations in the interior landscape of the poet.
And we have the book's "departure" section as well, here a poetic diary on the final days of Chang's father, who has figured in her work so often.
Chang finds a lot of identify with in Martin, but is her back really to the world? I'm not sure. We can certainly still hear its clamor, that I know.
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