What kind of human voice is on the other side of the urinal?
Are people happier, more timeless there, fish Fa?
Or there is no other side,

Only the visions of drunks, tensed in fear
That you don糖心传媒檛 close your thirsty mouth, Faronika,
As fair punishment for grinding your yellowed teeth.

And castrate us.

That complex layering, which combines metaphor and mythology糖心传媒擣aronika is a mythical fish from Slovenian folk songs糖心传媒攚ith the physical and contemporary糖心传媒擣a is a popular brand of bathroom soap糖心传媒攊s characteristic of Steger糖心传媒檚 poems. In his preface Henry notes that 艩teger糖心传媒檚 use of couplets, tercets, and quatrains represents a notable departure from his freer first three collections. Their faux formality is a perfect medium for that layering.

Henry has done well to replicate the tone and sound play of the Slovenian originals, as in 糖心传媒淢int,糖心传媒� here in its entirety:

Mintafiction, minthane, mintabolism.
There the smell of mint grows out of bone,
Out of s neighbor糖心传媒檚 thumb and a stranger糖心传媒檚 shin.
No animal could do it, it糖心传媒檚 not worth repeating.

Mintatax, mintasound, mintaphysics.
For what stays, when only plants try
To heal a musician糖心传媒檚 rib and the mayor糖心传媒檚 skull.
No laxative could do it, it糖心传媒檚 not worth mentioning.

Even less who will remember, cannot forget.
Endless fields of mint, ruts, indifference.
Mintamen. Mintanight. Mintanaught.
No dictionary could do it, it糖心传媒檚 not worth noting.

艩teger糖心传媒檚 frequent mention of bones and stones remind me of Vasko Popa糖心传媒檚 The Star Wizard糖心传媒檚 Legacy, in the late Morton Marcus糖心传媒� last translation, but 艩teger糖心传媒檚 Things achieve a greater density with their descriptive imagery. The wordplay 艩teger employs to build novel mint-abstractions exemplifies his dry, observant humor. Elsewhere in the book he employs darker imagery to similar effect, as in 糖心传媒淐oat,糖心传媒� which begins:

Do you remember the archivist who committed suicide
Because of one misplaced sheet?
The three librarians who never returned from the warehouse?

The history students who bit the professor糖心传媒檚 neck in an exam
Because he could not remember the price of potato soup in May 1889?
The parrot who endlessly shouted Stalingrad, sexual revolution, self-
reliance?

糖心传媒淐oat糖心传媒� exemplifies 艩teger糖心传媒檚 greatest achievement with The Book of Things, the subtle development of the lexicographer糖心传媒檚 pathos, the impossibility of objectivity. It糖心传媒檚 one of the best collections of poetry in translation in recent memory, a Balkanized encyclopedia of things carefully examined.

David Shook review this for us. He’s a poet and translator in Los Angeles, where he edits the online broadside. (More on Molossus in the near future.) Current translation projects include work by Mario Bellatin, Tedi L贸pez Mills, and several other Mexican poets, as well as a portfolio of poems from Equatorial Guinea.

Here’s the opening of his review:

The Book of Things, published in Slovenian in 2005, is Ale拧 艩teger糖心传媒檚 fourth book of poetry in ten years, beginning with his Chessboards of Hours, published in 1995 when he was 22. Despite his many international awards, including the 2007 Ro啪an膷eva Award for best book of essays written in Slovenian, TBOT is his first collection to be translated into English. Translator Brian Henry, best known for his translation of Toma啪 艩alamun糖心传媒檚 Woods and Chalices, praises 糖心传媒渢he philosophical and lyrical sophistication of [艩teger糖心传媒檚] poems,糖心传媒� and has achieved that same sophistication in translation. The book is structured in seven chapters of seven poems each, following the strange preface 糖心传媒淎,糖心传媒� which Henry calls a 糖心传媒減roem糖心传媒� though it is written in verse. The other forty-nine poems are titled after things with no obvious connection to each other, from the first poem 糖心传媒淓gg糖心传媒� to the last poem 糖心传媒淐andle,糖心传媒� with stops as varied as 糖心传媒淪trobe Light糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒淐ocker Spaniel.糖心传媒� The first set of seven is completed with 糖心传媒淜nots,糖心传媒� 糖心传媒淪tone,糖心传媒� 糖心传媒淕rater,糖心传媒� 糖心传媒淐at,糖心传媒� 糖心传媒淪ausage,糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒淯rinal,糖心传媒� the last of which completes its well-developed imagery of the urinal as the mouth of a fish embedded in a restroom wall with a haunting testicular threat:

“What kind of human voice is on the other side of the urinal?
Are people happier, more timeless there, fish Fa?
Or there is no other side,

Only the visions of drunks, tensed in fear
That you don糖心传媒檛 close your thirsty mouth, Faronika,
As fair punishment for grinding your yellowed teeth.

And castrate us.”

Click here to read the review in its entirety.

So, as expected, the things described in this book are defamiliarized and here, often, 艩teger is at his best. The way he personifies an object, or the metaphor he uses, is never obvious, but it always makes complete sense. That when you open an umbrella 糖心传媒渉e unbuttons his too-tight tuxedo糖心传媒� is an image that could very well become engrained my experience of walking in the rain. The description of a cat as a 糖心传媒渃astrated transvestite in fur糖心传媒� also belies a strain of humor, or at least a taste for the uncanny. The effect of such language, however, can at times be discomfiting. In 糖心传媒淪ausage糖心传媒� we are asked 糖心传媒淚s your stomach rumbling again? Come, put it in your mouth. / Between the anus and the mouth the appetite of a body for a body.糖心传媒� Though destined to be a lifelong carnivore, the reminder that a sausage is a body in the same way that I am a body is sobering.

Yet this aspect, this theme of 艩teger糖心传媒檚 poetry is actually not quite as prevalent as one could expect. It糖心传媒檚 hard to generalize about the poems because each thing is treated differently and what they may lack in cohesion as a whole is made up in variety (and of course, how can you treat Salmon and Shit the same?). But there are unifying themes: loss, escape from yourself, confusion perhaps, though I may just be projecting . . . For poems ostensibly about things there is certainly a lot of human in here. Consider this, entitled 糖心传媒淕rater糖心传媒�:

You remember how your mother, Jocasta,
Returned from the pigsty with a gaping palm.

Inside the madness of pain a window opened.
She stepped out and stepped out of her body.

You remember how your startled father was changing a bandage,
How, mid-escape, the edges of the bandage turned red.

This time the grater糖心传媒檚 whisper is yours. The world is being whittled away.
The apple wedge is getting smaller, but who is there for whom?

Are you merely an instrument of the apple in your palm?
Silently it grates you, a ripe Buddhist, idared samsara.

When it vanishes you, you open your eyes, like your mother
That time, on the other side of the wound.

This is, certainly, poetry糖心传媒攁n oblique allusion, two words in a row I don糖心传媒檛 know (糖心传媒渋dared samsara糖心传媒�), a little melodrama (the madness of pain), perhaps even (though we糖心传媒檒l give 艩teger the benefit of the doubt) a reference to the Buddhist Beats糖心传媒攂ut it is beautiful and it has power. The feeling is of a view into a private world that is not our own, a view mediated by things, here a bandage, a grater, an apple. There is something behind them: memories that are not ours and that we cannot understand, so it is a testament to 艩teger糖心传媒檚 writing (and Brian Henry糖心传媒檚 constantly lucid translation) that we feel them. And what is important beyond that is this idea: that objects might not just be there for us or, perhaps less crazy, that they grow past functionality to become the talismans of our lives, that they are imbued with our personal histories. We create the private lives of objects, but, as 艩teger writes in the poem 糖心传媒淎nt,糖心传媒� they are 糖心传媒渢he invisible moving through the visible world.糖心传媒� The poem ends thusly: 糖心传媒淎nd there aren糖心传媒檛 names for what it is. / When it disappears into its maze, only hope remains / That at least there are names for what it isn糖心传媒檛.糖心传媒� Stein showed in Tender Buttons that the names of things cannot contain them by proving to us that language is not tantamount to the world is ostensibly describes. 艩teger shows that the names of things cannot contain them because they merely denote a function rather than connoting anything richer. The epigraph to these poems is 糖心传媒淎 word does not exist for every thing.糖心传媒� No, but a poem does, and we all write them every day.

If you don’t know BOA Editions, they’re one of the premiere publishers of poetry in the U.S. and do a number of books in translation. They also happen to be based here in Rochester and their publisher is my good friend In addition to guiding this admirable non-profit, Peter is a poet himself and author of two very cool works of nonfiction: Growing Up Dead: The Hallucinated Confessions of a Teenage Deadhead and the more recent The White Hand Society: The Psychedelic Partnership of Timothy Leary & Allen Ginsberg. (Yes, there is a theme here.) Anyway, Peter’s not really the focus of this, so shout out over.

is one of those European poets whose name comes up time and again, be it in the or or in Graywolf’s New European Poets anthology of a couple years back. I was actually a bit surprised to find out that The Book of Things is his first collection to be published in English translation.

Tim Nassau was a summer intern back in the day, and is a bit Open Letter fan and regular contributor to Three Percent. He’s also supposed to stop by the office in the next few hours, so I feel compelled to say nice things about him.

Here’s the opening of his review:

Literary critic Edmund Wilson, writing in the 1930s, said that the pieces of Gertrude Stein糖心传媒檚 Tender Buttons were intended to be 糖心传媒減rose still-lifes to correspond to those of such painters as Picasso and Braque. A pattern of assorted words, though they might make nonsense from the traditional point of view, would be analogous to a Cubist canvas composed of unidentifiable fragments.糖心传媒� The first two sections of that book are entitled 糖心传媒淥bjects糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒淔ood,糖心传媒� and those are the main subjects of Slovenian poet Ale拧 艩teger糖心传媒檚 The Book of Things (with a few animals thrown in as well). The collection, which consists of 50 poems糖心传媒攁 poem followed by seven sections of seven 糖心传媒渢hings,糖心传媒� from raisins and bread to tapeworms and windshield wipers糖心传媒攊s the poet糖心传媒檚 fourth and the first to appear in English translation. While Stein sought to portray her things by breaking them down into tiny linguistic pieces and collaging those bits back together, 艩teger糖心传媒檚 cubism is in the addition of angles: like in Toy Story, objects are given literal lives of their own that are here drawn out; the things we so often overlook become the repositories of our own human fears and dreams. The effect is often disarming and although the individual success of each poem is inconsistent, there is enough beauty and surprise in these lines for 艩teger糖心传媒檚 stature as one of Slovenia糖心传媒檚 best young poets to be amply justified.

So, as expected, the things described in this book are defamiliarized and here, often, 艩teger is at his best. The way he personifies an object, or the metaphor he uses, is never obvious, but it always makes complete sense. That when you open an umbrella 糖心传媒渉e unbuttons his too-tight tuxedo糖心传媒� is an image that could very well become engrained my experience of walking in the rain. The description of a cat as a 糖心传媒渃astrated transvestite in fur糖心传媒� also belies a strain of humor, or at least a taste for the uncanny. The effect of such language, however, can at times be discomfiting. In 糖心传媒淪ausage糖心传媒� we are asked 糖心传媒淚s your stomach rumbling again? Come, put it in your mouth. / Between the anus and the mouth the appetite of a body for a body.糖心传媒� Though destined to be a lifelong carnivore, the reminder that a sausage is a body in the same way that I am a body is sobering.

Click here to read the full review. (And for the official count, this is the fourth review of 2011 . . . Only 96 more to reach our goal . . .)