Precis

Alvergue (gist : rift : drift : bloom) collages an enigmatic assemblage of sociopolitical theory, imagery, newspaper clippings, and rhetoric play in his second collection, echoing the ambiguity of the “border” that the book scrutinizes. The literal border lies between the U.S. and Mexico, but the book expands into a philosophical analysis of the boundaries between identities, bodies, and communities. “Root a line a poem compare Sidro/ finger tracing some thing imagined it happens outside/ folds,” Alvergue writes in fractured phrases, attempting to linguistically capture liminal existence. The book’s inspiration and intermittent narrative is rooted in San Diego’s Sidro neighborhood, where some years before a drunk driver killed a supposed immigrant named Alma Gonzalez. In a theory-heavy epilogue, Alvergue reveals how this event, this newspaper blip, affected him—lingering emotions captured in such lines as “forget// America the lullabies/ the broken strain of memory// with songs of stolen & captive people.” Readers may try to follow Alvergue’s philosophical journey, but the structure, with random overlaid quotations and blacked out boxes of texts, imitates and invokes interior confusion. Though the work clearly holds deep considerations of modern human questions, Alvergue’s uncertainty translates too perfectly onto the page; into a book of bewilderment that resists understanding. (Apr.)