The Bees Make Money in the Lion

Exuberant, verbally crowded, even chaotic, it can be easy to get lost in the odes, couplets, pastorals, and fantasias of this second outing from Mei-en (Yearling). Some lines nod to, or simply are, science fiction, with sentient arthropods and interstellar conflicts refracting social necessities. No wonder Mei-en quips "I have a futurist's job." Other pages depict an intense present; a moment of passionate, sexual self-destruction or self-creation: "my clear blown heart on clear cut flowers, a gin// jacket flashing shut on the wasteful night." Still other lines consider the frustrations of new Americans and the ambiguous boundaries of a nation: "my anthem a swollen scratch, a rift// of footwork out of the nation that sold her." Mei-en composes effusive reverse alphabetical acrostics, whose key nouns slide from Z back up to A; rhymed couplets; and echo-rich stanzas that recall (but are not) sestinas. Her density and surface difficulty mark her as modern, though suffused with a hint of Romanticism. Occasionally Mei-en's swarm churns so greatly no figure stands out, but more often than not it's a pleasure: "How I love to feed the lion, though her body be unbearable// and treacherous light." (Apr.)