Take Nothing with You

In her debut collection, Schweig explores the cadence of the city and its everyday dramas, the pain of loss and abandonment, and the amnesia of the heart that allows a person to love again. The poet flits through the urban landscape, overseeing juvenile offenders at community service, reminiscing at Brighton Beach, observing the distant lights from a rooftop. The collection’s standout is “After Catullus,” a pitch-perfect expression of spurned love: “When you find the man I loved// languishing in some remote city, screwing woman after/ woman, loving none, tell him how I gave the looters all his books.” A mournful ode to an unborn daughter and another to a recently lost mentor captivate as well. These themes of loss and absence also recur through mentions of her estranged father, as in “Stories”: “Once upon a time there was a man. And then there wasn’t.” Schweig also succeeds when she loosens the reins, “Sehnsucht” is a rollicking demonstration of wordplay: “He’s thus: He’s tense, he’s uncut, he’s/ nuts.” She falters occasionally with platitudes, such as “we all, now and then, walk alone,/ especially in the City of Men”—a warmed-over description of affected urban loneliness. Schweig is most successful when poking at her own wounds, delivering something raw and striking. (Nov.)