The first thing that struck me about Takács’ poetry is that it’s intensely trans-personal. There is a desire for transcendence, framed not as a way of detaching oneself, but quite the opposite – as contact with the world. This can mean the joys of collaboration (The Iterative Nature of the Magical Discovery Process) or forming a family, bodily transformations that have an element of kink to them (Gently Chew to Soften the Ridges, Overlays), but also an attachment to history and tradition (Six Hundred and Thirteen Commandments), or the numinous in nature (Outside-in / Catalytic Exteriorization). There is an interplay between wanting to leave the body – even if only temporarily – or have it transformed and the body being the medium through which you can feel and realise that want. It’s a joy that wants to burst forth, carried by the richness and sensuality of the language:
“I stagger through a nighttime landscape
of power lines while the light of the full moon
scatters, flickers in pools of groggy dark water
and the grid hums inside my chest cavity”
– from Outside-in / Catalytic Exteriorization.
This exuberant, fluid mode of being encounters certain challenges when confronted with the world. There are institutions that will bring their absolute best (meaning: worst) to control you because you’re only valuable if you’re of use to them (The Handcrafted Motions of Flight) and, currently, in many places of the world (including – though not limited to – the US, where the author lives, Hungary, where e comes from, and Poland, where I live) there is a rising tide of intolerance and outright fascism: a movement for a tightly confined and prescribed existence that wants to annihilate any deviation and transgression. And so in certain poems the lyrical language is poured into forms we don’t necessarily associate with poetry – most notably in The Oracle of DARPA, where a transcript of an interrogation is being disrupted by bursts of poetry, transformed and trans-scribed. The rules and conventions belonging to certain forms can be more than a tool of oppression: they can be a game. Some poems become more or less reliable guides and sources of advice that can lead you in interesting directions or save your skin (Seven Handy Ideas for Algorithmic Shapeshifting; The Tiny English-Hungarian Phrasebook for Visiting Extraterrestrials). Takács’ poetry is infused with a sense playfulness, levity, and humour, and so the formats become a source of fun and subversion that breaks even the constraints of the book as a medium and object (You Are Here / Was: Blue Line to Memorial Park, a transcript of an interactive poem which you can – and in my opinion should – proceed through here).
As it progresses, the collection seems to dip steadily closer to present-day Earth, with the third section ending with the striking Two-Tailed Triptych: a melancholy look of an emigrant at a homeland drifting increasingly rightwards (I can certainly relate). But then the last part is once again a reaffirmation of the radiant Being whose manifestations recurred in different guises throughout, as well as the possibility of love and connection. Algorithmic Shapeshifting tells us that we – as members of gender, sexual, and ethnic minorities, as migrants, as people – are so much larger than everything that would reduce us to spare parts or fuel for the machines of hate. We cannot be contained.
Disclaimer: I received an electronic review copy from the author in exchange for an honest review.
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