Without a Trace

Eli Goldblatt is the complicated son of American Objectivism. Like Oppen, Zukofsky, or Reznikoff, he is the insistent outsider, the one whose work endures because it questions our common experience, and acknowledges the impossibility of answer. “Doxology, a metrical praise to God: ”Praise God from/ whom all blessings flow.” But how do blessings flow/ from a God resident in hidden portions of an inaccessible/ palace? Do blessings flow down like rain or across like/ river water or circulate in a closed system like blood/ or radiator fluid? Should poems praise such a god?/ Lyrics not liturgy, a bus driver said on the way// to school. Once you shut the door, where do you hide the key?