Insecurity System

The sonnet gets a makeover in Wainscott’s inventive debut. Employing a technique that’s less bricolage than mash-up, the poet builds on “borrowed language” from artists as divergent as John Milton and Bruce Springsteen, from ancient myths to YouTube. These poems have an enchaining structure, such that each poem’s first line picks up sounds, images, or ideas from the final line of the previous poem: “mold the lyrics into signs” sets up “Told the lyre: how the head sighs,” and “the scarab in the supplicant’s ear” spills into “Scars grow supple as they heal.” Here, the spirit of play is ever present: “To make a bird/ you have to break some eggs. Throw yourself// to the sky and see what comes down.” A wry, philosophical seriousness couches the stressors of everyday life: tax men, time cards, “a bitch whelps on a nest of bills.” Lyrical moments carve out places for reflection: “Making meaning leaves out far too much,” the poet admits. The speaker is wildly observant, though cautious, as though she might cut herself on her own words. This productive ambivalence makes for a bracing, impressive effort. (Apr.)