Čučnik’s fundamental poetic position is summed up in the following verse: “Of myself I give the most I can”. In each particle of space and time in a breath of his speech, labyrinths can split open. The poet sees the present more and more as an elusive minute “when someone appeared and left noiselessly” – so the poet, in order to be able to come closer to it at all, must cover long time spans which in this book are represented by voices from old photographs. This poetic articulation is capable of taking over any textual material that the poet happens upon (“casino of words, which flocked here before a thought happened to break them”) – from a message that he finds written in pen on the edge of a banknote (as for myself, I admit that, unlike Čučnik, I superstitiously copy such a note onto other banknotes – and Čučnik has copied it too: into a book), or a series of text messages sent to him by someone “as blessed as Dostoyevsky in the period of “The Possessed”, to verses by John Ashbery and Elizabeth Bishop. With this textual material the poet’s work establishes ever subtler structures where simultaneous depiction of different speeds of time seems significant.