Radio Crackling, Radio Gone

October 16, 2006
The poems in Olstein's Hayden Carruth Award–winning debut inhabit haunted interiors where "arage doors open and close of their own volition," and landscapes where "everything blooms coldly" and "the sun shines through like a moon." Olstein constructs an almost impersonal, dreamlike atmosphere tinged with malaise, inertia and a sense that anything could happen but very little does. She is drawn to fluidity (references to water abound) and transitional states (from sleep to waking, from day to night); she is devoted to paradox, wonder and uncertainty. Such interests are nothing if not lyrical commonplaces, but Olstein's doggedness and focus lend them, here and there, a fresh vitality: "We huddle for warmth as if in a cave made of snow." The poems sometimes threaten to dissolve into a cloud of their own devising ("I'd never seen it so clear,// so gusty, so overcast, so clear, so calm"), but Olstein reins in her haziness with studiously regulated line lengths and stanza shapes. She is at her best—and certainly most distinctive—punctuating the book's cultivated vagueness with a blast of vivid, arresting detail: "April's first bee stumbles newly minted from its vault."

December 1, 2006
For the sake of clarity, "Language Crackling, Language Gone" might better serve as the title for this impressive debut collection. The poems are marked by a guiding intelligence that, in turn, shows itself as both elegiac and playful. The worlds of horse barns and wings balance comfortably with garage doors and breakups as the syntax runs circles around the reader, fragments, and finally comes back together with a reexamination of, or revelation of, the self. The tug of war between a modern and a postmodern aesthetic is most evident in such work as "Metaphor Will Get You Everywhere" and "Down to the Finest Particle of Every Falling Strand." At times, the poems are sparse to the point of emptiness, with many phrases falling back on themselves, as in "Once I was very brave. I was very brave once," creating an overall impression of a child's game where once the goal is mastered, the players move on to other entertainments. Yet when Olstein puts magic tricks away, the silky purr of the radio remainsconsoling and genuinely mysterious. This poet brings a sparkling consciousness to the page and an exciting new voice to American poetry.Susan Rich, Highline Community Coll., Des Moines, WA

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