Look at the table of contents—the dream imagination, the ordinary every-day-ness of her many-nationed realities, the whimsy, the absurd imagination, the overt sexuality of her earth, fruit and firmaments, the woman exile with eyes and lips, her momentary hook into time, into life impermanent, a dozen sutras about our transitory years on earth say no more, as she writes about her impossibilities in “Exile,” “Neither the postman nor the wind / will deliver the unpaid debt.” When you discover a new voice, you also observe new geographies. Bronislava Volková gives us Prague and the Shenandoah Valley, and for the English language her poems give us a Czech presence in poetry as contemporary poets have given us a Chiléan, Russian, Greek, or Spanish presence. —Willis Barnstone