Assured but chance-inflected, ever rooted in the local but always world-aware, Console reconsiders languages, geographies, and memories as luminous soundscapes. With lyric dexterity, Colin Channer jolts old notions of New England, cross-fading from the Berkshires to Anguilla, from Connecticut to Senegal. A dissolve to the poet's childhood in Jamaica occurs after glimpsing an old record player in Providence, leading to the title poem's meditations on reggae, religion, marriage, justice, and transgressions in the home.

With allusive links to photography, music, sea mammals, mistranslation, and the universal ritual of "the walk," Console reorganizes our sense of time, collapses and rebreaks the remembered and certain, renames the familiar, reaches for settled etymologies, and turns words inside out.

Includes 8 black-and-white photographs