Poetry. A masterful poet writing in his sixth collection, Hartman harnesses thenumber pi to find the form for its introductory longpoem; celebrates aGreek island's denizens, furnishings, and views in a series of concentrated and eccentric glimpses; writes in Greek and translates back to English; and boils the cumulative song down to a rich prose meditation on maps and the body's kinesthesis, wed in the knowledge that makes, however long or briefly, a home. "If poets are lucky to study everything, Hartman's wide-ranging and inventive mind is one of the luckiest writing. His poems are our good fortune"--Boston Book Review.
I return often to "Tambourine," Hartman's "pi mnemonic" -- though the idea that one would actually remember pi out to that many digits is daunting. The poem is written with words that have the same number of letters relative to the word's position in the number pi: thus, "Now:// I walk a coast brilliant as dragon glass / for water flinging splinters chaotic alongside / and in the distance long orders of island / spun for the occasion out of morning / corporeal light..." corresponds to 3.1415926535887932374626433832795, of course. Unless I've counted wrong. Which is always a possibility.
I guarantee you this is the only book you will ever read that has a poem regulated by the digits of Pi. A worthwhile read for anyone who enjoys poetry not just as pretty result but also as enterprise.