Model of a City in Civil War

Day navigates the tensions between breadth and precision, and between the historical and the personal, in his excellent debut collection. Through a range of forms, he creates a liminal space wherein references to strange historical anecdotes share a stage with more introspective and personal utterances. Through this balancing act, what seems remote becomes highly accessible and mysteriously familiar. One might expect that "From such material it is almost/ impossible to create a picture// of life." But Day moves deftly, accentuating idiosyncrasies in the midst of the mythical: "Here is the cloud-helmeted sun, and here/ is the world smoothed and close/ to the eyes." In the process of weaving his materials together, he draws his readers into a sort of collective memory, thus fostering a sense of community. Readers become "Participant-observers; innocent// nobodies" who, after reading Day%E2%80%99s accounts, are invited into an awareness of the "incompleteness of the past; the ongoingness of history." Day masterfully conjoins the still life with the moving landscape, the expansive with the infinitesimal: "blue skies and egg shells/ blown across a bald yard." This act of cracking and reassembling is a constant struggle, but there%E2%80%99s merit in the struggle itself: "What%E2%80%99s lovely about war/ is its devotion to thoroughness/ and order. It keeps count." (Apr.)