Vogel gifts us the body of the book and the carefully woven nest as twinned shelters—stays against our own ephemerality. Her lyrical meditations plait the threads of body and language into a beautiful 'architecture for that secret unsayable center.'
- Amaranth Borsuk, author of The Book
In Danielle Vogel’s heartbreakingly gorgeous The Way a Line Hallucinates Its Own Linearity, she digs underneath the skin of the body, language, and the book, to scratch toward a haunting absence. To tend to and hold that absence—to stroke it—requires Vogel’s patient yet urgent series of utterances. A vibrational pull that won’t let us go results, a crackling cry in the ache of night, a sensate break into another sphere, a lit passion, a new blues. Yes to these poems’ redemptive resilience, their fracture and their blur. Yes, yes, yes. I am reminded of why we need poetry.
- Dawn Lundy Martin, author Good Stock Strange Blood
Because 'a body loosens itself across an alphabet,' because 'an absent word unsettl[es] the collarbone’s concavity,’ because ‘the vowels layering, breathe,’ Danielle Vogel’s ravishing and profound work resides in one as a thrilling visceral experience. Never has a reading encounter felt so fully embodied—the vibration and motions and shapes of language inside, transforming the day, long after the book is closed.