I received an electronic ARC via NetGalley.

This is a readable collection of poems by a poet I was not previously familiar with. I found some markedly more enjoyable than others, but overall it's a nice translation that isn't entirely to my taste, but that certainly doesn't make it bad.

is there a zone of darkness between all languages,
a black river that swallows words
and stories and transforms them?
-- from "translation"


Distant Transit by Maja Haderlap (translated from German by Tess Lewis) is a collection of poems reflecting on memories of her homeland. Haderlap is bilingual Slovenian-German Austrian writer, best known for her multiple-award-winning novel, Angel of Oblivion, about the Slovene ethnic minority's transgenerational trauma of being treated as 'homeland traitors' by the German-speaking Austrian neighbors, because they were the only ever-existing military resistance against National Socialism in Austria.

The first section of the book delivers poetry of memory and youth. Haderlap captures that idealized picture of youth and the surroundings. The region of her youth is a land of great natural beauty, but also a land of 20th Century violence and division. Her voice shifts. Her poetry demonstrates a loss of identity. In explaining borders, we learn that they mean little, just political lines, drawn through the countryside not reflective of the people. Cities and towns stand on their own without mention of nationality. Her language to communicate with the world has also been replaced. Haderlap embodies the desolation of her poetry in her words and in the lower case "i" when referring to herself.

Distraught bees buzz in the corridor
of my abandon language,
birds of passage purge themselves in
rooms assailed and reviled
as if they were finally home -- that is, there where
they once were, language
kept in me thrall to the world but left me
unsatisfied were i to bite through it,
i would taste it desolation.

This collection, however, does not offer any insight to the poet. An introduction could have helped other readers connect with the poet and her writing. Her grandmother was sent to a concentration camp during the war and her father, as a boy, was tortured by the Nazis. These images still haunt Haderlap in her poetry. A fine collection that shows the loss of cultural identity and being left outside the new order.

No pude conectar con la poesía, ya sea porque no me llegó o porque intentaba usar palabras para parecer "intelectual".
Que si escribe bien? Si, lo hace, pero aún así no me llegó el mensaje que quería dar, no me llegó la pasión.

Beautiful, seemingly desolate nature returns frequently in the poems. Even Venice seems barren and struggling against the tides without humans.
language opens rotted doors, thrusts the dusty boards from their brackets, reveals the buried stone. it flies at my face like a flock of starled swallows, confronts me as the smell of mold, drops from the jagged armor and hulls of kids’ stuff like silt shed from all that was. - home

Distant Transit is a bundle that made me want to read more poetry at the start of the year, very well done and almost hypnotic in how poet Maja Haderlap paints the landscapes and thinks about language. Nature, in the border region between Austria and Slovenia (Carantania) is often the subject, with sparse if any human population. The atmosphere is filled with melancholy, like for instance in:
the house you once lived in is a roughly timbered frame of smoke, it hovers over you, barely perceptible, imponderable, like you. - transit

House of desires then again is a poem that perfectly captures love.
House of old languages (quote at the top of the review) touches another prominent subject: the decline of language, porous and atrophied as a coral that struggles in globalisation.
In the end I feel the sentiment of the below poem is effortlessly conveyed to the reader and I throughly enjoyed reading about Slovenia for the first time in a poem:
my language wants to be unbridled and large, it wants to leave behind the fears that occupy it, all those stories dark and bright, in which its worth is questioned, only when it dreams does it soar, supple and light, by its very nature nearly song - dreaming language