It's been a while since I've updated the River of Words over there. Those are the books I'm reading. And I'm especially loving the Reynolds and Wilson. The Koster is nice, but a bit lighter than I'd hoped for. The Stafford. . . The man wrote a poem every day. He published something like sixty books of the stuff. How do we make money? Volume! Right. There are some good poems. Some very tasty nibbles. I'm least excited when he does the small essays that his generation seems to favor. He has some nice narratives (including, yes, "Traveling Through the Dark" which fits with his other work so that it's not a surprise on its own), some lovely landscape sketches, but very little political work. Surprising, given that he was a conscientious objector. I find myself drawn to the--again very sparse--poems that discuss his Native American heritage. Still, for pages at a time, I find myself drifting off to thoughts of mint plants muddled with various liquors. Stop by if you're in the neighborhood.
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