FIREFLIES

Loftus, who previously wrote Dress Whites (2018), repeatedly marries the heady with the mundane in this sophomore poetry collection.

There are a number of paradoxes attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher Zeno. Perhaps the most famous involves the supposed impossibility of motion: To get to any point, one must travel half of the way to it. To continue one’s journey, one must then go half the remaining distance, or one-quarter of the original trip. This pattern continues, but because there’s no line so small that it can’t be bisected, one will never reach one’s destination. Loftus’ poem “Zeno’s Paradox” takes this arcane thought experiment and gives it flesh and blood, reimagining it in terms of a man waiting for a lover who will never arrive: “He waits. For her. To enter, shut the door. /... / She’s still walking—to the broken steps, / sagging porch and flapping door, / the table, couch, his brazen, smelly hold— / as fast as he may summon her, / as slow as I implore, / she will take forever.” Thus does the author recast the philosophical as the poignant, simultaneously offering a new take on Zeno himself. He does something similar in “Camus sur le Pont,” whose title alludes to the French novelist’s 1956 book-length reflection on responsibility and abdication, The Fall: “A body strikes the water / so different after dark, / as if an exit / were an entrance, / below, above, at once, / parting a black mirror, / a looking glass of stars.” Camus’ book is about a suicide on the Seine, but Loftus adroitly (and devilishly) shifts readers’ focus away from the falling woman to the water, which swallows the body impassively. These unexpected shifts in perspective are Loftus’ stock in trade, and they infuse his deceptively straightforward poetry with depth and texture.

Deeply thoughtful and satisfyingly unpretentious poems.