"Exquisitely pictorial ( . . . “confusing feeling with seeming, I think./ And nothing, and suffering, with fog”), post-historical, and combative (“I can defenestrate anything/ except for the window”), these poems and their occasionally patterned nature (section three being composed of “blogpoems” of witty force and technoculture-saturated play) are as original as anything being written today. The first stanza of “Blogpoem After Walter Benjamin”: “Every time you reproduce a piece of art/ you remove some of its aura and that’s why/ your mix tape didn’t impress me much,/ it was so fucking aura-less . . . ”
"Gabbert has a dizzying number of recommendations for reality, and they range from a Richter scale of quaintness for Amsterdam (“Blogpoem the Litany”), a T-shirt’s alarming imperative of HAVE A KNIFE DAY (“Poem with Negation”), and the proper “nefarious angles” at which pictures should be hung (“Poem with a Superpower”)."
After reading the book once through with no pen in hand, no notes, no nothing, I tried to just think for a moment and get a sense of my sense of the book. The best word I could find to describe the feeling the book left me with was "open." I think this sense of openness is more than simply a result of the final poem of the collection being entitled "Bridge." The sense of openness comes from the way these poems reveal themselves to me, the way they don't ask me to look through them, but to look directly at them.
As I reread the book, taking some notes along the way, this sense of openness became more and more apparent. But what exactly do I mean by "open"? Let me try to clarify my sense of the collection by responding (uninvited) to Joe Hall's musings over on HTML Giant. ..."