Genya Turovskaya’s spare and haunting poems reside in a vernacular of absence and disintegration that can be felt and witnessed with each exquisitely wrought line. These poems refuse the business and noise of contemporary life in order to clear a space for what’s most deeply interior, private, and elusive about the world of the mind. It’s almost shocking to encounter poetry like this, where every emotion is understated, but never muted. Turovskaya maintains affinities for earlier twentieth-century poetic traditions, yet is firmly rooted in a vibrant American avant garde. Every page here is animated by a spirit of inquiry that resists certainty on a quest into the numinous recesses of our most authentic experience.

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