Some strange things started happening when I read "Ghost Machine." I live in an apartment complex, and across the parking lot, behind a thin tree line, there is a park. I was reading "Ghost Machine" on the balcony. It was about midnight, and suddenly I heard a guy in the park doing karate moves. Of course I could not hear karate moves, but I could hear him yelling, the "Hi-ya" or whatever that accompanies the idea of compacting all energy into a body movement. It seems a little silly, but at the moment, hearing him and reading these poems, I thought that this man was capturing the essence of the book.
"Ghost Machine" is about impressions of people, not like someone meeting someone for the first time, but someone arriving to a place and still being able to feel the previous occupant. Almost like renting an apartment. Almost like buying a used car. Ben Mirov has given us poems that feel used, as if the person has left and these are scraps of his life that he forgot to take. We are looking through them, sentence by sentence, not really getting the full picture, but just enough of the picture to draw our own conclusions.
This works because the language is sparse. The lines are short. It is like fingerprints are more defined when the fingers have been placed on glass longer, but still they are just fingerprints, never the whole finger. We can imagine what the fingers look like from the fingerprints, but honestly we will never know. I can to decipher more. I can try reading these poems over and over. I can even memorize the entire book, but the meaning and pictures will still be mostly made in my mind.
I was finishing this collection tonight, on the same balcony. I was reading and a locust flew up and hit the glass balcony door. Locusts are rarely ever seen, only the shells they leave behind after they have grown. To be able to see the actual bug, to almost get nailed in the head as it drunkly flew toward the door, made me think of the best way to sum up this collection. These poems are like a shell of a locust. I know that the locust exists, but the only proof of the shell that he leaves behind.