Michael Mirolla's poetic world is one where a mirror - or any simple reflective item - is tilted ever so slightly, providing an opening to places we would never have imagined existed. (One of them is his own birth, from the inside, looking reluctantly out.) The poet is a metaphysical detective, finding the cracks and gashes that open into other worlds. Uncomfortable in the here and now, he would rather spend time in the past/future, or on the edge of that mirror. Luckily for us, shaped by his reflective, polished imagery, all those worlds are fascinating places to visit, doing a brief meet-and-greet with his myriad ghosts.
About the author
Born in Italy, and arriving in Canada at the age of five, Michael Mirolla calls himself a Montreal-Toronto corridor writer (because he spends so much time travelling between the two cities). He’s a novelist, short story writer, poet and playwright. Publications include two novels, the recently-released The Facility, and Berlin (a 2010 Bressani Prize winner and finalist for the 2009 Indie Book and National Best Books Awards); two short story collections—The Formal Logic of Emotion (recently translated into Italian and released in 2010) and Hothouse Loves & Other Tales; and two poetry collections: the English-Italian Interstellar Distances/Distanze Interstellari (2008), and Light and Time (2010), His short story, “A Theory of Discontinuous Existence,” was selected for The Journey Prize Anthology, while another short story, “The Sand Flea,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His short fiction and poetry has been published in numerous journals in Canada, the U.S. and Britain, including anthologies such as Event’s Peace & War, Telling Differences: New English Fiction from Quebec, Tesseracts 2: Canadian Science Fiction, the Anthology of Italian-Canadian Writing (Guernica), New Wave of Speculative Fiction Book 1, and The Best of Foliate Oak.
Michael Mirolla looks into his art as into a language prism: light glances off many sides of the 'object' at once and time, particularly time, is what attempts to hold it still. They seem to work as artistic principles, informing and revelatory: the condition and product of the work itself. But as time lets go, the poem is left not just as a brilliantly light-refracted piece; it is also, in Stevens's parlance, that always perennially interesting 'world [that lives as you live/Speaks as you speak", the demystified thing as it is. We are not left with just a lovely inscrutable artifact but an image, as Bachelard says, that 'opens a future to language' -- Conrad DiDiodato