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I is to Vorticism

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The wrap-around cover of this chapbook is a Taylor Fox painting entitled "A Demonstration," in which a lone figure on a theatre stage--hidden from the audience's view by a large canvas--pedals a whirling contraption of set pieces that produce, we imagine, a series of changing scenes and silhouettes, a phantasmagoria wheeled by the tireless artist clothed in shadow on the back cover. I can't think of a more perfect visual metaphor for Ben Mirov's beautiful first collection of poems in print. At once restless and easy, these strange meditations, anecdotes & parabolic prose pieces enact the difficulties of change as they entertain, seemingly effortlessly. Mirov shares a kinship with poets like James Tate & Dean Young in this respect, American exemplars of the absurd; but these poems are not merely derivative. Instead, the poet invents & reinvents himself in surprising, charmingly humorous ways that never allow the character Ben Mirov--&, one gets the impression, the poet himself--to rest comfortably on a single notion of self. "No feeling is also a feeling," he writes in the collection's first poem, "a powerful one surrounded by all feelings." If one replaces the word "feeling" with "identity" (perhaps they amount to the same thing in Ben Mirov's poems) then the multiple collapsings that follow perfectly transmit the sense of inevitability that we should expect from great poetry. Here is a young new poet to be reckoned with.

Reading I Is To Vorticism is like opening the door and finding a dozen seal pups limned in foxfire. "I'm Ben Mirov," they belch, before melting into snakes, then scarves, then little phosphorescent puddles. The puddles hiccup into crows, which burst into night. A girl appears with horsemint, currants, and a garibaldi in a mason jar. "Drink," she says. You do. Night crumbles down to crows, the crows collapse into puddles. In your right hand is an eyeball. In your left hand is a snowstorm. The eyeball is staring at you. "I'm Ben Mirov," it barks.

The book opens with an aptly chosen quote from Dobby Gibson: "If there are feelings, / then there must be a reality that causes them, / but in the space that exists between the two, our finest lies are born." Mirov's work lives within these parameters - he is a playful liar, teasing out that which exists between feeling and reality. The poems are very aware, looking both inward at the self and outward towards one's surroundings. It is an observant, mischievous, and sensitive work that manages to be both funny and intelligent. A truly pleasurable read that I intend to return to and most definitely recommend.

"I is to Vorticism" is an impressive debut from Ben Mirov, a New York-based poet whose work is astute, heartbreaking and, frequently, heartbreakingly funny. If poetry is a high-wire act, these poems fearlessly balance and dance on a high wire made of knives. There is an honest assessment of the self here, and what it means to live in the early days of this terrible new century, but Mirov never descends into bathos or self-pity--instead, a hard-earned compassion lurks behind the wry voice. Highly recommended.