This is cosmopolitan one-man theater at its best. Words do not swallow the they flow to a varied musical rhythm and make sense. Nikolayev's collection models a persuasive modern hero-an uprooted intellectual at home in diverse cultures who stares at the world through a unique pair of eyes.
Philip Nikolayev is witty, and if you think that's common in poetry, then read these poems. The wit I'm talking about is quick and (apparently) effortless, light as a monkey, not the lumbering elephant wit of self-congratulatory poetry, or the slumming inconsequence of Updike poodles. Nikolayev uses his linguistic predicament - English is his "second language" - to pretty awesome effect, slapping grammar and syntax around until they begin to make a weird mirror-world sense. Or pocket-world. Anyway, not the world of most contemporary American poetry.