Emily Wilson (2) (1968–)

This is one of those books that makes me feel heart-wrenchingly, delightedly inadequate. This is what I wish I could do with words. This book demands to be consumed slowly, word by word. Each poem a dense wordscape that must be read and reread, immersed in and languished over. Its rich and lush and slow. Luxurious.

I got Emily Wilson's books because I have a letterpressed broadside of hers, made by the inestimable Sara Langworthy, my former printing teacher at the University of Iowa Center for the Book. The poem on the broadside is "Small Study," and the language in it is so lush, so finely wrought, that I wanted to read more. She has two books, The Keep and Micrographia and though I've been reading The Keep (her first book) longer, I've found it much slower going.

Micrographia however was a faster show more read. I think it's because this collection isn't nearly as dense. The language is detailed and sonic, precise and at times obscure. It is carefully worked, and at times absolutely stunning. At times the language, the rich sonorous words, takes primacy, nearly obscuring the meaning that always lurks one step beyond it. The interplay of sense and sound is exquisite. But there feels like there's something a little lacking in places, an intent to the language, something beyond the mere ornamental. I think perhaps part of this is the micro - a number of these poems seem so localized that they aren't as engaging as they might be. In these cases, the ornate language feels empty, like trying to create interest in something that wouldn't be interesting, but not quite succeeding.

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