The Multiverse , Andrew Wynn Owen’s first book of poems, sings of science, philosophy, and religion, testing the emotional valences of each. It sings in a variety of strictly observed metres and with rhyme. The poems find their way into memory as sense and sound. The Multiverse celebrates human curiosity. The poet is an enthusiast—for the visible world, for scientific and philosophical excursions.
A magical collection sparkling with life : these poems are accessible, thought provoking and lovely. The beautifully metric and cleverly rhymed stanzas are evidence of the poet's dedication to his art. The collection includes prize-winner "The Centrifuge", which analyses the creative process through concepts relevant to the 21st century, and so linking modern concerns with poetry of the past: profound, perfect, pleasure.
Usually reading is for thinking. Sometimes it is for feeling. These poems are for both.
I’d quote the poet’s own words on Harbisson back to him in gratitude ("Thank you for being bravely, fiercely free/ Thank you for your belief / in understanding's ingenuity. / Hope's reef / Resurges, full of lives, / And windows have unmisted / Because your mind contrives / A sense that never previously existed"). Except, I disagree on just this point. Wynn Owen's precise, traditional form - within which the natural, philosophical, and sacred (ala Hopkins, Herbert, Donne) flows into the postmodern (bubble tea, googlers, holocene) and back again - frees me, at least, to experience in the space of a single poem unbearably paradoxical senses more acutely than Harbisson (vel sim.) ever has.
I am currently fascinated with the idea of multiverse so naturally I had to read poetry on the subject. Suffice to say, I wasn't disappointed. My favourite out of the collection: 'Calm,' I called, 'where are you? Calm, don't hide. I need a hand To clear my head'. A roar replied, 'You'll have to look elsewhere. This is chaos-torn and restless land. Calm is not here.' .... .... I quit my quest and looked at autumn's flowers Depleting in Dry seedpods. I forgot the hours, Until - 'You there, I think You called?' (The voice of Calm.) 'I was within. I am this ink.'
This book is amazing. There's nothing around with anything approaching its level of intricacy. As much as I admire skill, that's not what I love about it though. The best bits are the playful layering of tone and the hopeful, imaginative passion. One of the only contemporary poets I really feel moved to learn by heart.