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The Voice of Things, as one might expect, is profoundly concerned with the relationship of the human world to the non-human–rain, blackberries, oysters, oranges, cigarettes, trees, bread, water, the end of Autumn, mollusks, snails, moss, meat, shells, pebbles and snails. But as Ponge describes them, these objects become strange and wondrous, unfamiliar and swollen with odd metaphors. Reading them is something like catching a glimpse of your own image, oddly distorted, in a surface you hadn’t thought reflective until you saw it from an unexpected angle. Archer renders these prose poems in matter-of-fact language that stresses the weirdness of the images by its starkness. This is prose but it is not the prose of the world you know. Imagine listening to a public service announcement that suddenly turns into a riddle you’ve been asking your whole life and never known it. I think the analogy conveys something of the sense of mystery that involves me in this poetry, keeps me circling back, again and again, especially when I am so foolish as to think I’ve solved it. But I do not mean to to be sentimental. Judge for yourself