"Michael Ives' cunningly quarried prose plinths are stippled with the comedy and cruelty of Marcel Duchamp’s and Raymond Roussel’s wildest inventions. Move over, machines célibataires—The External Combustion Engine has arrived, and it's hummin'!"
—John Ashbery
"The motoric energy of Michael Ives' inspections is what first caught me: not just the narrative energy but the urgency of breath and its deeper, darker sources. All systems were being used to inspect—to investigate. He notices and connects. The brilliance of music is around these texts of his, driving rich prose discourse through the narrow gate of song."
—Robert Kelly