Hardback

A poet watches the limbs of a eucalyptus tree get sawed off: the image persists, recurring across poems of art, language, selfhood, memory, and loss. Joan Mitchell said, When I talk about love, I mean loving a tree. When I talk about love, I mean loving where a tree used to be. Men assess the eucalyptus tree growing on the poet’s street; a crane arrives. The sound of a chainsaw rings in the air and branches begin to fall. This tree-cutting haunts the poet, and refracts across the remarkable work collected here as Chang turns her thoughts to artists such as Pablo Picasso, Joan Mitchell and Hilma af Klint. Roving, evocative, and intricate, this work is rooted in Victoria Chang’s crystalline voice and generous, probing gaze, and by certain images – trees, a hanging figure, a branch, fingertips, a briefcase – that resurface like apparitions.