This small book of poems, which I read in translation from Polish to English, is spare in words and deep in meaning. They take the reader around the world, often to locations where the author recalls someone no longer alive. Zagajewski also writes often of his father, who has Alzheimer's or some type of progressive dementia. He writes of Warsaw's Jewish ghettos. Just when you feel the gut punches and can't take another, the poetry spins a scene with clouds and azure sky. Or an ironic poem about poetry turns up the corner of its mouth. This is a treasure I think I'll read again. ( )

Translated from Polish (by the incredible Cavanagh, of course) yet his words fall with a fluidity and natural, unforced style that really speaks to me. I really liked "Impossible" and "Corridor." ( )