(fleeting)

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I deactivated my Facebook and Instagram accounts today, and deleted my Threads account. I wasn’t really attending to any of them anyway.

I remain at my blog, and I maintain a cool, detached demeanor at my Bluesky and Mastodon accounts. That’s more than enough.

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I’ll be one of the readers at the first NAWP event of the new year. Register here.

graphic with photos of the three poets, myself among them, and the salient details: Tuesday January 21st at 7pm EST
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Last, next.

107: Shenandoah (Maple)
108: Vintage

Two Field Notes memo books side by side: one used, one new
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When I travelled to NYC last week, I brought Pilgrim at Tinker Creek with me. It had, once, been very important to me but I don’t think I’d pulled off the shelf in thirty years. I wondered how familiar it would seem after so long. I started it on the plane. A few days later, I arrived at this page:

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: The old Kabbalistic phrase is “the Mystery of the Splintering of the Vessels.” The words refer to the shrinking or imprisonment of essences within the various husk-covered forms of emanation or time. The Vessels splintered and solar systems spun; ciliated rotifers whirled in still water, and newts with gills laid tracks in the silt-bottomed creek. Not only did the Vessels splinter: they splintered exceeding fine. Intricacy, then, is the subject, the intricacy of the created world.
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Omigosh, I almost forgot: I wrote a book!

And now there are a few signed copies at Next Chapter on Snelling Avenue in St Paul.

Your Humble Author signing a copy of Vessels, the bookstore in the background
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The first review has already appeared for Vessels.

I am not, of course, the intended audience and as such I find the review entirely too generous and effusive. But I do believe it captures well some of my concerns as a poet and, to some extent, my intent for the book.

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In one hour!

Tune in here

Images of poet Anne Leigh Parrish and Your Humble Author, accompanied by the text: Poetry Unvelied: A Winter Evening with Anne Leigh Parrish and Robert van Vliet
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Now playing:

Cover image for Ava Mendoza's album The Circular Train, showing a slightly blurry Mendoza on stage with an orange and red Fender Jazzmaster guitar
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And tune in tomorrow evening to see me read from this slice of obliteration pie, this tectonic dissonance, this mute catechism, this liminal aviary.

a copy of the book with post-it flags sticking out
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Jane Huffman:

A late addition to the great tradition of wisdom texts, Robert van Vliet’s Vessels attends to what it means to be alive in the anthropocene, an era of climate destruction and dislocation from the natural world. ¶ “That is / the puzzle for / every generation,” he poses, “to / fix what has / been fixed.” The poet’s gentle, prophetic voice ekes out an intrepid authority, half-whispered into the ear as “water whispers to / the seed as it lies / on its belly,” and the poems function as both meditations and instructions for use. “Speak / carefully,” he instructs in one of the book’s many near-adages, “or the / listening fish will mistake / your confusion for their order.” ¶ Guided by gnostic and transcendentalist thought and built on found materials and chance operations, these poems walk a wooded path, where there is refuge, dissonance, ash, strange magic, and where below the observable world is the “unforeseen” territory of the spirit. —Jane Huffman
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Mark Scroggins:

Written—composed—assembled—or made, through processes both of aleatory and of careful composition, over the course of a moment of profound historical, social, and existential angst, the poems of Robert van Vliet’s Vessels are marvelous, echoing, delicate crystals of profound stillness. ¶ They resonate with wisdom—the vivid metaphors of the I Ching, Thoreau’s quotidian observations, ancient Gnosis. But these vessels of stillness shiver with the promise of both revelation and obliteration, leaving the reader moved and disquieted by van Vliet’s subtle lyric art. —Mark Scroggins
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Henry Gould:

Robert van Vliet’s poems are, paradoxically, both quiet and powerful. With an understated idiom, they express remorse, unease, and struggle—while delivering, at the end, a sense of enigmatic wonder and peace. ¶ It is a balance of contraries. The poems are forthright, simple and clear : yet beneath their unobtrusive surface resides a well of glowing, flashing images; an urge toward existential reckoning. ¶ Simone Weil wrote : “Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer. If we turn our mind toward the good, it is impossible that little by little the whole soul will not be attracted thereto in spite of itself.” The challenging, obdurate, questing voice at the heart of Vessels is unmistakably authentic. It unfolds a basic sense of rightness—which offers, to the reader, a profound encounter with reality. —Henry Gould
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Eileen R. Tabios:

“The sky remembers / what the tongue / can no longer pronounce” because the world, as well, is a vessel. Its containment may not be discernible because the world is vast. But world——like its word itself——holds all within its embrace. Such poses necessary implications, like “the hope of forgiveness” or like how one “work[s] on what / has been spoiled, not / dwelling too much on // who spoiled it and / why.” ¶ All creatures, such as humans, are also vessels but because we’re all within the same world, when we hear others as “the red / clay cracking in the empty lake. /…we must / help each other.” To live in a shared vessel also means the relevance of courage: “the tree is more than its reach.” ¶ Robert van Vliet’s Vessels is not only moving and engaging poetry; its words also have crafted a worthwhile lesson that can be summed up by the book’s beautiful raison d’etre: “Every straight line / is perfectly round.” —Eileen R. Tabios
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Patrick Pritchett, Richard Jeffrey Newman, and Mark Young:

The poems in Robert van Vliet's debut collection murmur with quiet affirmations of being-in-the-world; the sounds the earth makes when no one is listening but which, nevertheless, pulse with fragile urgency. Vessels performs a book-length meditation on evanescence and the deep pleasures of the immediate. The reader who surrenders to these richly enigmatic poems will find themselves floating inside the aviaries of Logos, ready to embrace the gifts of spirit. —Patrick Pritchett ¶ Language is both the landscape of meaning in which we live and a tool for exploring, shaping, and reshaping that landscape. Rooted in operations that make use of both those truths, the poems in Robert van Vliet's Vessels illuminate with a laser-sharp clarity the path one consciousness has taken in order to build, moment of perception by moment of perception, a meaning for his life. It's a path well worth walking with him. You will learn important lessons about what it takes and what it feels like to make that journey for yourself. —Richard Jeffrey Newman ¶ Vessels is a spiritual text, a canticle, but not necessarily a denominational one. A catechism in the sense it is an exposition of belief, where the mysteries of nature & relationships are the divinities. It is a communion with oneself, with others, with the great beyond. It is a thoughtful & thought-provoking compendium of answers to those questions we needed someone more astute than ourselves to ask. —Mark Young
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I am still astonished and humbled by the generous, acute attention Vessels received from its early readers, such as Claire Wahmanholm:

In Vessels, Robert van Vliet works as a medium, reminding us that foundational texts—in this case the I Ching, Thoreau’s writings, and the Nag Hammadi library—can constitute us as much as the news cycle. Here, past fortitude and present urgency scrape against each other like tectonic plates. In the tradition of such wisdom literature, van Vliet’s poems are koan-like, gnomic, paradoxical, shot through with uncertainty and stitched together with guesswork. But they are also unmistakably tangible: van Vliet shuffles the natural world and fans its elements before us like tarot cards—“a flat cloud stained like a bloody liver”; “a nest of hair above the dry lake”; “thunder swim[ming] over the mountains.” The subject matter of Vessels is nothing less than the act of poetic creation. Van Vliet invites us to consider how and why we make poetry, and how we might use it to survive these times.
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It’s publication day for my strange little book!

Order a copy here.

Vessels was written during a time of disquiet, isolation, and absences, when each day was folded over on itself, false and empty. To keep working, Robert van Vliet challenged himself to build a ten-line poem each day that needed to include five words and a line or fragment from a book, all chosen randomly through chance operations. ¶ He knew that he was too swamped by the quotidian to allow himself to choose the words—they would be nothing but fear, mask, Covid, police, racist, murder, climate, rage… The chance operations allowed him to leave most of the decisions until the very moment he began composing. ¶ The result is a collection of three suites, each seeking a path beyond the polarity of either willfully ignoring the appalling spectacle of those pandemic years or being angrily transfixed by it. Three paths out of mute heartbreak and toward a third space of hope, presence, spirit.
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Next Wednesday evening, December 18th, at 5:30pm PST.

Hosted by Unsolicited Press and streamed live on Youtube (link to follow soon).

Images of poet Anne Leigh Parrish and Your Humble Author, accompanied by the text: Poetry Unvelied: A Winter Evening with Anne Leigh Parrish and Robert van Vliet
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Vessels drops a week from today!

Then, the next evening, join me and one of my pressmates as we launch our books into the cosmos.

Details and link to follow shortly.

A copy of Vessels with post-it notes sticking out the top and sides, marking poems I might read at upcoming events.
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A poem of mine, “Island,” has just appeared at Foofaraw Press.

It’s been edited and revised somewhat over the years, but its roots are very old, dating back to 1992–94.

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Last, next.

106: Shenandoah (Birch)
107: Shenandoah (Maple)

Two Field Notes memo books side by side: one used, one new
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My author copies of Vessels have arrived! I guess it’s a real thing now.

You can preorder a copy here. Publication day is in exactly one month.

A copy of my book lying on an ottoman; a fire in the fireplace in the background
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I was recently interviewed by the lovely talking about strawberries all of the time. Read it here.

The experience led me, in the newest issue of my newsletter, to brood over the nature of story and self, and how we think about our own origins. Subscribe here if you want.

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Last, next.

105: Nat’l Parks (Arches)
106: Shenandoah (Birch)

Two Field Notes memo books side by side: one used, one new
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In about 31 minutes, I’ll be one of the readers at Unsolicited Press’s Literary Nights series.

Tune in here!

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I’ve just sent out the next issue of my newsletter. Subscribe if you’d like, or just prowl the archives. Most issues aren’t terribly informative, and I’m almost never as funny as I think I am.