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In Chambers' remarkable debut the cracked, emphatic word works to join-via staccato rhythms slowed only by "feralsigh" or caesura-imagination's reign to the unruly machinations of the "body-body." In a series of urgent addresses, Chambers' Dickinsonesque syntax stresses and sizzles. Instead of a Master we have Honey, we have Baby, we have Little, and we have Light. The Exquisite Buoyancies is a book of jumbling, tumbling doubling and becoming that suggests echo as tether to lament. Chambers' poems are creepy, freaky, lustfull love Songs sung into cosmic darkness. -Caryl Pagel Anguish can be a kind of joy. Here, in various constellations of heightened language, lyric crooning, ethereal & felt, bodily things, meaning emerges and recedes and emerges again; part incantation and lament, part a sort of flailing, circling ecstasy. This poetics shows us that as we would play with a child, so too we can play with language, even, maybe especially, the language of our hardest moments, when our soul is floundering about: "like Look / thus named Light / like Linnet who laughs laborious in warblelow delight-." This is a beautiful book. -Cody-Rose Clevidence Tucked within every page of The Exquisite Buoyancies is a door. And if you go through it: the impossible glow of the interior will lead you to the charnel grounds where lamentation-celebrations hum through this long night. These poems trace the echoes that slip in and out of the range of the visible page. The result, somehow, is that th