Opera Buffa

“The dream is gone”: so concludes one of the first poems in Šalamun’s introspective posthumous collection. Full of warnings and questions, Šalamun’s writing does not shy away from being political and instructive, “Money is for money;/ money is not for you.” In tight, lyrical poems, he probes the atrocities of violence and catastrophes that have left the world fragmented (“Death is worn out,” he writes). In the absence after loss, Šalamun asks, “You did not suffer the death of/ your friend? You, is it yours, the heavenly/ soil?” Here, as elsewhere in these pages, the second person is both critically implicated and tenderly involved. Painting a portrait of a world where so much has “Flooded/ all my flowers,” there is longing for the collective and a desire for justice (“Do you feel the footsteps,” he asks. “Do you feel the approach?”). Haunting and visceral, Šalamun’s voice is full of longing for a better future. These moving poems are a valiant effort at piecing together a shattered world and bringing it back to the light. (Mar.)