Ah Wind

No one can die for us, writes Carolyn Stoloff in her majestic new book of poetry, Ah Wind. But what wants to save itself sings. Stoloff will be saved. With a touch of Cummings/ Wright/ Merwin, painter-poet Stoloff writes about Duchamp’s Selavy, about an uncluttered time in Capri, a Mourning Celebration. She skews romance: a man walks about with his flame of affection/ for the space of a held breath/ / then love’s blown from its wick. She captures the simple with resonance: before the fish man dies/ / leaving his fresh trout/ in the freezer/ leaving my mind/ still as a white river. But wisdom is what she excels in: I’d like to be that way-/ in passage, crossing my mother’s/ transparent stillness/ leaving no scar. Subtle, perfect poems that plunge toward the inevitable. Without wounds/can a field be sown? -Terese Svoboda