La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

looked over kari edwards' iduna today. i don't know how to describe it other than to say that looking at it feels like moving into a space entirely composed of language, almost as if it is a visualization of wittgenstein's vision of language. the separate poems seem like distillations of the language flux moving all over the pages. reading it brought up questions of reading. how do i read this work?—i had to keep asking myself that. i have often thought that poets like to create the poetics with which you read their poems, but edwards' work seems to comment on the entire reading process, as if the process is filled with terminal hierarchies that must be discarded through an alternate reading practice.