For Once, Then, Nothing. This item is unavailable.For Once, Then, Nothing

V. J. Saraf’s poems make their way through the quotidian with a keen eye trained on the just-below-the-surface: the face of “the man I could have been” glimpsed in passersby; small relationship tragedies inferred from a distance at cafés; a phantom nemesis “reaching up its hand towards our necks” from the waves of a leisurely seashore. Among personal challenges and heartbreak, professional and civic ups and downs, the specters of “one moment unspoiled by unease,” “some / Nothing-left-to-avoid” loom ever elusive. And yet, as soon as the poet retreats into his mental Grey Gardens, the magnetism of the world pulls him “down the steps” out of his hideout. This dichotomy perfectly fits the form of plainspoken unrhymed sonnets, which yield their voltas as naturally as breath. For Once, Then, Nothing marks the debut of a distinctive voice well worth getting attuned to.

—Anton Yakovlev

Lively, mellifluous, and elegant in style and technique, V. J. Saraf’s poetry rises from the pages like a beautiful architectural structure, a chateau. Full of the emotional details of contemporary everyday life, this remarkably accomplished book rewards the reader with all the excitement of which poetry is capable.

—Katia Kapovich

For Once, Then, Nothing pledges its faith in poetry to account for the keenest, the saddest, the strangest and most ordinary moments of our human lives. I am reminded of T. S. Eliot’s words in “East Coker”: “Not the intense moment isolated, with no before or after, / But a lifetime burning in every moment.” Saraf teaches us to carry the burden of our lives, these burning moments, lightly, like wildflowers arranged into a bouquet. The exquisite “Angel” channels a messenger with rapt simplicity in contemporary terms that turn celestial: “I carry out the plan / To all things equally, with wonderment // At what I land upon: world after world” (“Angel”). This messenger is the poet, ever moving, charged with fluency, attentiveness—even eloquence.

—Katie Peterson