In How to Love the World, Jew­ish Uyghur refuge Elvi­ra Base­vich ori­ents her­self in a world where ​“a Jews looks at an Arab/​and see her­self,” where ​“The part of me that’s a Jew­ish poet/​is lost in a park­ing lot in Detroit,” where her father — once a Pro­fes­sor of Math­e­mat­ics at Moscow State Uni­ver­si­ty — now dri­ves a taxi in New York and curs­es cus­tomers who dare to hail his cab as he works out the­o­rems at red lights. Base­vich begins with her own mid-migra­tion birth in Vien­na and then hur­ries the read­er across bor­ders, dis­ci­plines, and lan­guages until we’re breath­less — not just from the dif­fi­cult jour­ney, but also from the urgent delight of Basevich’s humor and max­i­mal­ism. Whether relat­ing to Lebanese refuges or Immanuel Kant, Base­vichin­sists that ​“the writ­ing of poet­ry is a kind of time trav­el; and it is always a prepa­ra­tion for love.”