If Nothing

Nienow’s introspective sophomore collection (after House of Water) explores emptiness, desire, and the search for meaning. The book’s epigraph is from Nobel winner José Saramago: “Inside us there is something [with] no name, that something is what we are.” Fittingly, these poems oscillate between self-reckoning and a yearning for absolution, with nature and domesticity serving as recurring motifs, grounding the inner and outer worlds. “Daily Log #104” (“Drunk again. One tall bottle of that monk brew Golden/ Monkey and a sixer of Rainier that went down like water./ Lights off in the shop, hoping no one comes to the door”) and “Five Years Now” (“to that man almost gone/ from every world I’ve known”) strive toward redemption. Other poems are full of joyful lyricism, such as “I Kiss the Ground where We Lay”: “I curse the reckless yes/ in long June grass/ where we... let lips/ & tongues undo years.” Fleeting moments abound, as in “Alternate Endings,” in which the sun sings into a “glaze on the hill almost/ beautiful before we knew/ our house was on fire,” or “An Echo for the Archives”: “I have found happiness to be/ the most elusive of all states.” Unflinching and tender, this volume affirms Nienow’s distinctive poetic gifts. (Jan.)