The Irrationalist
Prosy and conversational, Buffam's poetry is full of heavy thought and dark humor, asking, “can worth be conferred/ on a less than epic urge?” She offers advice, “I say wear a watch if you must/ But don't count on it,” but also writes with the belief that “sooner or later/ All burning houses will be mine.” Buffam writes with the conviction that everything is worth observing, but that everything, good or bad, is basically the same—a moment that happens and is gone. The second section of this second book, “Little Commentaries,” borders on aphorism, with poems of no more than two or three lines, such as “On Valleys”: “To be a valley/ Find a hill/ And lie down at its feet.” Buffam manages to be penetrating and at the same time flippant: “Any idiot can become a genius if she wants it badly enough,” she says, seemingly claiming everything, no matter what the scale, is temporary or cyclical: “Enjoy the view while you can,/ Mt. Everest.” (Apr.)
