The Old Philosopher is enigmatic, sexual, biblical, anachronistic, political, and personal all at once. These quiet, implosive poems inhabit a nonlinear temporality in which Vi Khi Nao brings biblical time and political time together in the same poetic space, allowing current affairs to converse with a more ancient and historical reality.
This is my third time through this collection, and each time it impresses me more. I imagine the whole thing being written all in one breath, so that we get this flowing mesh where depictions of family and Vietnam mix with meditations on god, the body, and love.
There's an effortless quality to the book, especially in how disproportionate it is, though I think it can be divided into 3 loose movements: an initial, very fragmented section (that makes a very good use of the surface of the page), where the book has an almost metaphysical tone... which gives way to a series of narrative poems where we see so many different images of love in so many different forms, and finally to a prose sequence where a lot of the themes start to cohere. There's no rigid division between the sections, and I appreciate how natural it all feels, even if the form of each poem is always different from the last.
There's a strong sense of feeling in this book, which I really appreciate. Every moment is resonant; every line is charged this sort of glowing sense of immanence, a sense of feeling so intense intense bodies can't contain it. I've mostly given up poetry over the last few years because it's so rare for it to make me feel anything anymore, but this collection is exactly the opposite. The whole thing is always moving, always flowing, except there's this acute attention to feeling and sometimes even humor--but of course, more than anything, to the beauty of the language along the way.
God, I only just discovered Vi Khi Nao through this stunning collection of joyful and subversively playful poems, The Old Philosopher, and I can't wait to dive into the rest of her work! There is god as child, god pretending and in make-believe, god with a lower-case g. But out of this play comes such a fierce creative force. In the poem, "AA Meeting for a Limestone" the poet reels into a delphic riff on pain, "They are going to cut me into slats./ And they are going to edge my pretty face..."
And out of play and through delirium comes something prophetic and oracle, "I tell you the stars are moving lightly/ & the birds are flapping in fright/They float aimlessly in the ether."
So much of the poetry in this collection churns in the body, thyroid glands, diaphragms, esophagus, and mouth. The poet writes, "The Heart is a quiet mountain in the Northern hemisphere of the Body" and while god may be lower-case, Body is scared, holy, and Otherness brought as close as breath.
Jeremiah, the Biblical prophet, makes an appearance in the poem, "How Can Something So Unmoving Move Everything Around It" with his warning of the heart's deceit and the poet meets the prophet and pushes back hard, upending condemnation (and its patriarchal overtones) with a kind of delightful and knowing and sly threat. The first poem of the collection asserts this upending of god with the self as god and of a "transgender performance art as identity." This poem feels like the enactment of that, speaking this transformation into being.
The title poem takes a meditative turn, and that's one of the things I love so much about this collection. It continues to veer and turn, accelerate and free fall, like a roller coaster, effortless and thrilling. I can't wait to experience more of her work!
What if the epiphany you seek was not in the pages of a self-help book but in a collection of sublime poetry? What if you could come away from a reading experience a better person? This was my experience of "The Old Philosopher." Vi Khi Nao handles the pen with deft precision to lead the reader into the world of his or her own interior. The poetry is at once gentle and disruptive, devastating and redemptive. Let the work wash over you and come away baptized in an unique expression of yourself reflected back from the mirror-heart of one of the Inspired poets of our age. -Jeff Key artist/activist
You may have to read the book twice and read each word of each poem separately to recall what these poems are doing to you but you probably will be glad
I loved many of the poems in here, especially Pastoral Threshold and Chorus of Buttons. Many of the poems had great first lines.
This is the prompt by the author for reviews: Go to page 24. The poem poem has 6 words Hypertropied Football Star As Serial Killer Use those words in the review, but not necessarily in that order. The review should be 217 words.
This was a hard collection to get through. Not due to heaviness of subject matter, but more due to the nonsensical and meaninglessness of the poems and images. Nothing feels connected in this book or in any of the poems. All of the language was esoteric and ungrounded. The only poem I enjoyed reading was My Socialist Saliva because it was the first poem that was grounded in place and time. I often give poets the benefit of doubt and am generous. I suspend my need for meaning when reading poetry, but this collection really did not land well. The sequence of narrative poems about made up people and lives felt forced and pointless, and I found myself asking why it was even present in the collection.
I really love good poetry but, for some reason, this didn't click with me the way some poetry has done in the past. It just isn't for me. That doesn't mean it isn't good. It's wonderful. I can appreciate the poet's skill, I just didn't feel emotionally involved with most of the entries. That being said, there were a couple of poems that I can't stop thinking about.
I'm not educated in poetry, it's just something I've picked up by reading so much in my life. Someone who is more fluent in the art will probably devour this book and absolutely love it.
"One word will condemn another word Or annihilate another completely"
Yeah, except for that quote above, this book did nothing for me. Everything seems fragmented, but not in a good way... almost like all over the place without actually saying much.
I know, I know... "Unpopular opinion" given everyone else's reviews. *shrugs* I might read her short stories, though. It might be the difficultly I have in reading poetry and extracting its meaning.
"There are different names for the heart: Mount Hood, for instance, which lies In Oregon like an alligator."
I thought this collection was good but not great — worth reading, but nothing that punched me in the face the way I like my poems to do. My favorite poems were the POV ones beginning with "Pastoral Threshold" (which was also my favorite among them) and "Skyscraper."
I really wanted to like this, but unfortunately I could find equal nuance, meaning, and emotion in a random word generator. Clearly I just don't get it, so it's not for me.
THE ENIGMATIC DEMOISELLE, ELOIGN A crowd gathers at the opening paragraph A crowd of words Afraid to look at other words For what they might see The ‘t’ in ‘tenuous’ is excited about the ‘t’ in ‘tampion’ We are wearing matching shoes Words are fearful of their origins One word will condemn another word Or annihilate another completely Lynch that man That brisk fascist Or remove that vixen She doesn’t belong in our elite Class of linguistic nobility Words gather and group themselves into families Ones that share similar symmetries Or think they would like to bring another member One especially that doesn’t belong here Let me introduce you to the enigmatic demoiselle, Eloign Please say hello. Welcome. Welcome Social pressures and semantic infrastructure prevent words From being individuals Why can’t I stay alone in an empty room? Floating from one blank page into another Some words are deliberately weak Join a club. Being a member of many things Happy to find themselves, appearing in a maxim Right here I won’t become extinct Or disappear into the past Or get snatched away like a child in front of a bus stop Words refuse to elucidate Their clans of urgent meaning After they kiss each other goodbye— They disperse into a field of nonsense Or into a cliché Many words enter a queue Collaborate with one another To form an allegiance Of melancholy Many exist in nomadic tribes Called The Sentences Many prefer to live in fragment Refusing to tame their unruly insinuations A few words remain sentient in a mansion Gazing down at imposing height At their aristocratic isolation But before the god of elocution Words are merely nudes In their veneer sense of homelessness.
Sharp, quiet, funny, violent, intense, incisive, narrative, lyric. Philosophical even. Political even. Some of the most intense and dense-but-breathy poems collections I've read in a long time.