Where the Poet Becomes a Seeker: Matvei Yankelevich's Some Worlds for Dr. Vogt

Martha Ronk reviews Matvei Yankelevich's newest book of poems, Some Worlds for Dr. Vogt (just released by Black Square Editions, with a gorgeous cover by photographer Hannah Whitaker). At Constant Critic, Ronk writes that "the poet becomes a seeker," just like "the astronomer, Dr. Steven Vogt, who, from the spectrometer on the Keck Observatory in Hawaii searches for extrasolar planets." "Each 'world' comes into being and then quickly disappears..." Furthermore:

Each poem in the collection is complex for different reasons and takes time to plumb, to attend to all that is going on—references, complex use of language, juxtapositions of scenes and words, self-conscious allusion to genres, desire for and skepticism of any particular “world.” Each, moreover, questions its own procedures, is attentive to the constructedness of meaning and also to the constructedness of the physical text by references to the pen, to printing, to vocabulary, to artifice; yet, it seems to me, this is all done with a light touch, avoiding over-emphasis—indeed things move too quickly for that—and we are left to contemplate/gape at the views we are given.

Throughout there is a dialogue between the self and the material world that is “not me” and is “said to be out there,” although, of course, the separation between them can also be just a hypothetical proposition to be considered, and considered from as many angles as possible, as in XXIX:

Things are said to be out there
different from thing that are
said unto being, or seen as
being there. And objects—
they float in inane rhythm
reversing the hammer and
the nail, undisturbed
by humanism, broken cartons
and folded-up individuals,
bathed in light. Some
thing can go wrong. You’re
considering what it is and all
you have is a smile, a pine
desk, and parched papers
under the wine.

From this single example one can see how meticulously crafted these poems are in the use of sound, the juxtaposition of “hammer,” “undisturbed” and “humanism,” in the play and breaks of the first four lines, the thought-provoking adjective, “inane.” I am particularly impressed and moved by the surprise of the ending where it is not the broken cartons that are folded up to be carted away, but “individuals,” yet not at all in some kind of ruin, but “bathed in light.” That shift is unexpectedly sensual, so at odds with earlier abstractions and appreciative of both “individuals” and “light.” The poem ends by asking what, given the tools at hand, a poet can do about it all, seemingly undercutting (but I would argue not) all that has gone before. Although the lines and vocabulary appear relatively simple, items often change places with named aspects of language and jostle one’s initial take. The text seems fluid, reordering itself in one’s mind and I often want to question my own takes as I read. Each poetic maneuver, each arrangement of lines is deft, seemingly executed without effort.

We encourage you to read this review in its entirety at Constant Critic!