Poetry Books

I am a librarian at a small public library with a very multicultural community base. In order to increase our poetry collection I branched out and ordered new authors. Mr. Daisy's book made it worth my while. Ever since receiving his book in early 2002, we have not been able to keep it on the shelves. People of all ages, races and backgrounds have found his poetry, "moving and inspiring", "comforting", and feel "he understands my world". This book is a wonderful addition to anyone's library, whether public or your home collection.

Kyran Daisy has captured the emotions that come hand in hand with strength, frustration, misery, rage, tenderness, desire, love, heartache, and heartbreak and shared them with his readers in a mesmerizing flow of phrases. Each new poem brought a new rush of goosebumps to my skin. I fully experienced his joy and his sorrow through his brilliant words.

I don't think there is a soul on earth who would not find their own personal truth in the experiences of Mr. Daisy. As one reads the verses, one wonders if the poet was actually right there, experiencing these emotions right beside them. There is so much wisdom in the words of this young man. He has such talent, and so, such a future in poetry!

I THANK KYRAN FOR CREATING A TRULY INSPIRATIONAL BOOK OF POETRY. IT MADE ME OPEN MY EYES TO THE EMOTIONS CAPTIVATED WITHIN EVERY STORY. THE BOOK IS BEAUTIFULLY CRAFTED AS IS THE MAN HOW WROTE IT. WITH EVERY WORD ON THE PAGE ONE COULD TELL HIS LOVE FOR POETRY. THE BOOK MAKES YOU REFLICT ON THE PURPOSE OF POETRY; TO REACH DOWN INSIDE YOUR SOUL AND LET GO OF THOSE POWERFULY FEELINGS YOU NEVER KNEW YOU HAD. I HOPE THAT KYRAN FINDS THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE ANOTHER DELIGHTFULLY, MOTIVATING BOOK.

I cannot give enough praise and words to express my feelings for Mr Kyran Daisy's book of poems, Can't Nobody Take Me Away.His poetry is heartwarming, sensitive, perceptive, and emotional. Mr. Daisy is a creative writer. I highly recommend his book because it is a wonderful reading experience.

I cannot give enough praise and words to express my feelings for Mr Kyran Daisy's book of poems, Can't Nobody Take Me Away.His poetry is heartwarming, sensitive, perceptive, and emotional. Mr. Daisy is a creative writer. I highly recommend his book because it is a wonderful reading experience.

In this slender volume, justly hailed as a wonder by several reviewers, Judy Jordan crafts the most beautiful, thought-provoking and elegiac poetry out of the less promising circumstances - poverty, alcoholism, murder and death - and gives us lines we aren't likely to forget.

I came upon this book by pure chance, and I'm happy I did. Despite her often dismal subject matter, Judy Jordan is a joy to read. Get the book now, thank me later!

Judy Jordan, Carolina Ghost Woods (Louisiana State University Press, 2000)

Judy Jordan writes dense, exquisite poems that both shock and satisfy, while making you feel vaguely like taking a shower afterwards.

"...it informs the toads,
crouches them in crooked caves of alder roots,
pulses the pale skin under their slack mouths,
keeps them in the pond's tight waves clutching anything:
a pine's resinous knot, a fist of chair foam,
even a drowned and legless female."
("Long Drop to Black Water")

I loved this book; very easy to see why it won the National Book Critics' Circle Awards, though I have to admit I'm somewhat surprised that they received such heavy subject matter with such aplomb. This one's definitely a keeper. ****

I pulled Judy Jordan's "Carolina Ghost Woods" off my bookshelf again tonight. It's a cold and clear here in the deep south and Jordan's poetry called to me in the wind. "Carolina Ghost Woods" was first published in 1996 by Louisiana State University Press, and Jordan writes that she submitted this book for three years as a "first book" before it was awarded the Walt Whitman Award in 1999. The first poem, "Sharecropper's Grave" sets the tone:

The night is hoot owls, wind-whistled flue, babies bundled in burlap.
Breath of another child, mid-gasp.

The alliteration causes the reader to shiver in the cold and continues throughout this poem:

Small holes, secret graves,
children scattered around the iron fence.
Not even a scratched stone. . .
The night full of cries they will never make.
To read the title poem,"Carolina Ghost Woods" is to travel into the mythos of the south, to hear what the dead whisper,
When the leaves shudder to the muddy ground
and snow under the gutters puddles red,
when the bird lifts, the rabbit shivers in clumped grass
and the fox shrinks into the bramble,
when the shadow crosses the pitchfork's broken handle
and the hinges of the shed door rust,
let me believe someone is there.

Each poem in the book reveals another story from Judy Jordan's life. They are woven together to bring the reader through the death of her mother and the violence of being on the streets, homeless. Ms. Jordan joins the reader in this journey with her breath and voice and we walk the ghost woods together.

Buy the book and settle down with a fire in the fireplace and the lights dim, read "Caroline Ghost Woods" from start to finish . . . you won't regret it.

As a creative writing student at Southern Illinois University-Carbondale I was immediately fascinated with the program's newest addition. Already the school boasted the great Rodney Jones. And I began reading SIUC's newest professor/poet Judy Jordan. After several readings, I am still amazed. Whether it be the remarkable, pain-staking craft or the soul-drenching childhood and early adulthood that she narrates with such originality and heart-thrashing grief, Jordan simply takes your breath away.

This collection, unbelievably a debut, doesn't just grip the reader with it's wrenching family tragedies. The music, sounds, carefully sought words (both for sound, connotation and meaning) and an ambition leaning towards the transcendent makes for a potent statement.

Currently, I am enrolled in a poetry course with Ms. Jordan. Let this not be a bias in my review. I admit am unabashedly biased towards male poets. For whatever reason, I can see through the eyes of a Rodney Jones or a James Wright easier. However, Jordan's book truly strikes a chord with me. It doesn't beg for pity. It doesn't make the predictable turns. It endeavors for something more. In addition to pain, guilt and embarassment, it finds joy, hope and transcendence in this person's impoverished, tragic past. It bears minor resemblances to the work of her former teacher, Charles Wright, as well as carrying influences of poets she's worked around in the past: namely James Kimbrell and Donald Platt. But as their style is of their own, so is hers'. And Jordan's ability at true poetic craft, rhapsodic forms and ear for human dilemma is more than original, it is ground-breaking.

During a time when poetry's popularity is at an all-time low, fresh work from the likes of Jordan and Kimbrell are keeping the medium alive. There is something very spiritual in this movement. I only hope, that when my time comes, I can be a part of it.

While it's true that Jordan's technique seems a bit thick with "borrowings" from Charles Wright, her actual material (and her treatment of it) is wildly original. This book is shocking, heart-wrenching and, at times, almost unbearably beautiful. An urgent and necessary voice.

I had the opportunity to hear Michael Ondaatje read his poem 'The Concessions' from this book at the Blyth Festival season launch and this poem is very beautiful. Not only is it a connection that is like no other with the area that it was written for. Ondaatje has really gotten into the sprit of the area as he pin points local figures 'the mystic from Millbank' we all knew who these people were that he was pin pointing which was very lovely. I was very pleased to have had the opportunity to have hear that poem that I went out and bought this book right away because of that poem. I recommed that you buy this book there are many other lovely poems but that one 'The Concessions' will forever stand out in my mind.

The wonderful collection of poems that comprise The Cinnamon Peeler were written by Michael Ondaatje during a twenty-year period. They are works of deep intimacy and dazzling beauty.

Not being a poet myself, I enjoy reading Ondaatje's gorgeous poetry to my novelist wife.

More than love poems, these works contain wonderful twists and turns that are both painful and funny. Ondaatje has obviously turned to both Rousseau and Wallace Stevens for inspiration, but he also contributes his own sense of the novel and his awareness of social strata.

This is a charming book, with a muted sense of humor. With The Cinnamon Peeler, Ondaatje takes us deep inside his own mind and heart. It is trip worth making.

Michael Ondaatje knows how to mix humor, beauty, sadness, and acute observation together to make lovely works of art. This collection contains a great variety of poetry, from simple and touching observations about his children, to deeply imagined distant moments of wonder. My favorite is "Pure Memory/Chris Dewdney" which actually made me cry twice for two different reasons when I first read it. I will say no more here. "Elimination Dance" is also a fun one to read out loud. "The Cinnamon Peeler" itself is a fantastic love poem. There is so much good stuff in this.

Michael Ondaatje knows how to write poetry. Primarily, he is a poet. Secondly a novelist. This collection contains a great variety of poems about day to day life, love, marriage, deep observations about children, humour, history and many more.

My favourite poem is ""To a Sad Daughter" which has a universal appeal. Once, I read this poem to my wife just replacing the poet's daughter's infatuation: ice hockey players with our daughter's hobby. My wife remarked: "Great poem. So you write good poetry too!"

I also like other poems including "The Cinnamon Peeler", "A House Divided", "Women Like You", "Billboards" and "Postcard From Piccadilly Street".

Michael Ondaatje shares his great intimate moments with us including love, his recollection of places and relationships with us. If you want to understand Ondaatje's prose, one must begging with his poetry. For anyone `The Cinnamon Peeler' is an entry into a dark and deep labyrinth painted with human experience. When you come out of it, you'll be a different person.

This book is a one I read over and over again when I'm both sad and happy!

I don't have much to say, but I must state my immense admiration for micheal ondaatje and his thought...his way of thinking reminds me of my own, like when he says in one of his poems with no name, "how we moved from thin ceramic to such destruction". I feel such romance and love from almost every single poem, even rat jelly! He doesn't restrict himself to using a certain amount of lines in his stanzas, and there's no rhyming. That makes his poetry more "true" and honest, like all poems should be. His works read rather like a novel and he could probably write a novel for each poem he's written, but they'd all be thrown in together eventually into one book, since they're all in a way connected. I love reading his poetry over and over again, the effect never wears out. I can't remember the name of my favourite poem from this book, but it's simply about him and his wife kicking each other in bed for the covers and the space, and how he says that she got pregnant, he's sure, just so she could get the space...it's such a simple subject that no one else would think of writing about...no other poets that I've read have succeded in being able to pour out their thoughts in a way that I would actually be interested to read them. I applaud you, Micheal Ondaatje...all my love.

Housman's poetry is very gloomy; considering that all the pictures I saw of him in my high school English IV class looked as if he has a stick shoved up his __. I recommend "To an Athlete Dying Young" number 19 in his collection called A Shropshire Lad. Still strangely relevant since it's first writing way back in 1896, it's just a really good example of really vivid poetry done by a master.

Absolutely necessary reading for any poetry lover. If by some terrible mistake you have so far missed Housman, you should make up for it immediately. Don't waste your time reading reviews, just get the book asap!

I remember first discovering A. E. Housman in school when I read "A Shropshire Lad" and was rather impressed.

My favorite of his poems is "To An Athlete Dying Young". It moved me because it has a special connection with me, since now that my athletic days are over and I'm no longer a part of any team, I understand and can identify with the athlete who is once so glorious and yet his glory can be so short-lived.

David Rehak
author of "Poems From My Bleeding Heart"

I don't know what I'd do without this book. I stumbled on Housman more or less by accident in an anthology and just fell in love -- so much emotion so perfectly crystallized in such lovely little lyrics, beautiful regardless of what connection you make to it. I can't recommend this highly enough; somehow, despite the melancholy, Housman's verse retains a power to comfort and assure in even the most dire of situations. That, I suppose, is why it was written years ago "for those unhappy fellows, unborn and unbegot, for them to read when they're in trouble and I am not."

A.E., Housman's superb poem, "To an Athlete Dying Young", cannot help but bring to mind all the young men who perished in aerial combat. You knew some. I knew some. We are now moving off stage and we cannot help but hope and pray that others will carry on the task of remembrance. I drive by Putterham Circle in South Brookline, Massachusetts, frequently and I note that the wooden sign dedicating the traffic circle to my old friend Staff Sgt. Frank Ryan is in need of replacement.

What brings this to mind is a letter from a Fred Farnsworth (email address: FredieF@aol.com) of Los Alamos, New Mexico. He is interested in the life of his late cousin, Lt. Everett Farnsworth, of Stillwater, Oklahoma. His cousin and Jimmy Stewart were close pals and used to double date the English girls who lived near the air field. I should note here that I have yet to hear one note of criticism of Jimmy either as an Airplane Commander, actor or as a human being.

Our correspondent says Jimmy told his cousin that he would honor him in a movie Stewart would make when he got back to the States. He gave Everett the name George Bailey in the movie we all have seen probably more than once. Its title was "It's a Wonderful Life".

Everett did not live to see the movie in which Stewart kept his promise. He was killed on a bombing mission when his badly shot- up Fortress went down in a Swiss lake. The name of the lake was Greifensee. Everett and one other were killed in the crash. Four other crewmen who had been ordered to bail out did so and survived. The plane was a B17G -serial no. 384BG/5545BS and it went down April 4, 1944. Anyone with information concerning the plane and its crew can forward it to "Vapor Trails".

As long as I am still here to tell the tale let me home you in a bit on my pal Frank Ryan. He was a rich kid from a very patriotic family. He had a U.S. Marine brother who fought on Tarawa if my memory serves. Frankie went to "Cranwell", a lahdeedah Jesuit boarding school in the Berkshires. I went to Boston College High, at that time a Dickensian Jebbie prep school in Boston's tough South End. It is still close to my heart after all these years. We both wound up among the very few Radio Operator Gunners who could read Latin. (I can say this without fear of correction because all my Latin teachers are dead.)

We both joined the Army Air Corp in Brookline but didn't see each other again until a couple of years later when we luckily met on a train back to Brookline. We were beginning the furloughs you get just before going overseas and presumably into combat. Frankie went to the Eighth Air Force whereas I wound up in the Tenth. I sent him a V-Mail from the 7th Bomb Groups airbase at Pandeveswar, Bengal soon after I got there. By this time the European air war was winding down. I wrote Frankie that he was one lucky guy because his war was just about finished whereas fliers in the CBI had a long way to go.

I sent the same note to Nate Douglas of Georgia whom I had met my first day of Basic Training and had been to CTD, Sioux Falls Radio School, and Gunnery School at Yuma. We said goodbye in Savannah where he was assigned to train on B17s and I was across town at Chatham Field training on Liberators.

A few weeks later I was sitting in front of a sweltering straw-roofed basha in Bengal, India, when a mail orderly came by and handed me the self-same V-Mails I had sent Ryan and Douglas. The orderly muttered "Sorry". Both V-Mails were stamp "Killed in Action."

Smart lad(s) to slip betimes away from fields where glory does not fade...
John Brennan, editor

Surprisingly neglected, especially in the academy, Schuyler will soon be recognized as one of the most gifted poets of his generation. The deluge of doctoral dissertations cannot be far off; I encourage readers to beat the rush.

Except for his last poems, JS is one of the best poets ever and deserves more attention. If you're unfamiliar with his work, look at the cover and it'll tell you almost everything you need to know before you bask in the light.

James Schuyler's COLLECTED POEMS is a great volume of poetry. Ranging from aspects of daily life (such as plants, walks in the countryside, friends, urban life, etc.) to contemplation of death, life, one's interiority, and God, Schuyler's subjects are compelling and relevant. What I especially like is his ability to take a mundane, everyday object or concept (like a view from a building) and give it a new, intensely personal perspective. This is his major gift. One aspect that I didn't like about some of his poems (and this is true for all poets) is his tendency to be obscure at times (though only a small portion of his poems are abstruse) and his long, rambling prose poems, like "Hymn to Life." "The Morning of the Poem," though, is a fantastic and imaginative piece of literature, broad in its scope and revealing of Schuyler in its tone and subjects. Overall, this volume of poetry unites the works of a superb poet, who valued the artist's perspective and his or her obligation to record a view of the world different than that of the average person. This volume will, I fervently hope, remain in the continuum of literature and in discussions of it for many years to come.

This collection should establish Schuyler as one of the great poets of his generation. I particularly admire his tautness--precise names and descriptions, inventive phrases--as well as his flexibility--a wide-ranging eye and ear and a free-flowing memory. Throughout these poems there lurks a clear intention to inform, to connect, to synthesize. I look forward to returning to this book many times for refreshment and illumination.

These sparkling poems mimic in their movements the springtime light that's always raining down around this poet, despite whatever woes he might have had. Read the long "Morning of the Poem" and tell me it isn't one of the most moving poems in the history of poetry.

This is an excellent edition of the collected poems of Octavio Paz, with English translations facing the Spanish originals. I purchased this as a gift for my Spanish teacher and she was delighted! My favorites are his poems written when he served as a Mexican diplomat in India and Japan. His sensitive mind absorbed the nuances of place and religion, which are recreated for us in the poems. His efforts at haiku en espagnol are enlightening, pun intended.

I bought this book after reading an excerpt of one of Paz's poems at a camp. I didn't know what poem it was from, so I bought the book and scoured it until I found the poem. It was Brotherhood. The poetry is beautiful and moving. It is the type of poetry you can read and enjoy no matter if you understand what it is saying, the writing is that beautiful

Octavio Paz has since passed through this world leaving behind a beautiful web of words with the tapestry of things seen and unseen. Paz does an ambidextrous job of mixing in elements of surrealism with the bone of natural objects and that which is very real. His, and the translator Eliot Weinberger ... along with the help of other poet translators to include Bishop, Levertov, Tomlinson--all of their words come alive with beautiful language. The translation seems true to the intent.

What is essential about this book is that each poem comes with the bilingual translation in English and accompanied by the original works in Spanish. Two years of high school Spanish, as well as two years in college, has rendered me with a woefully inadequate ineptitude of all words and understanding of that language. But I don't think that the translation can ever capture the sound, the alliteration, the true tongue/la lingua and fluid language that Paz meant in his original Spanish. Even if I don't understand a lick of what's on the left side of the page in Spanish at least it can be read for it's beautiful sound. Listen to this, "Through the conduits of bone I night I water I forest that moves forward I tongue I body I sun-bone Through the conduits of night" and then on the even-numbered page, "Por el arcaduz de hueso yo noche yo agua yo bosque que avanza yo lengua yo cuerpo yo hueso de sol Por el arcaduz de noche."

What are you doing still sitting here reading my crappy writing when you could be reading Ocatavio Paz? Go get the book...you'll see.

Example 1: "Un cuerpo, un cuerpo solo, sólo un cuerpo,/un cuerpo como día derramado/y noche devorada". Example 2: "Lates entre la sombra/blanca y desnuda: río." Octavio Paz is one of the first voices of the xxth century mexican poetry. He is the most important blend between clasicism and the modern trends in poetical expresion. He lived in France and thus, he experienced surrealism and mingled with the likes of Breton, Éluard, et al. In México he estimulated the literary critic and reviews to new standars of excelence. Read O. Paz.

Paz' poetry is sublime, and elegant. The words and ideas simply slip off the page. Its like taking a bath in chocolate.

Paz consistently suprises the reader with new ideas, form, language. Paz creates an atmosphere that is soothing, and enchanting. I would highly recommend this work.

Kees is a brilliant modernist poet, who describes the world he sees in dark and apocalyptic tones, filled with biting satirical wit. He poems read like photographic images of the dark reality in which he lives. His style is inventive and original. The world around him is hollow and meaningless, as seen through the eyes of bathers, lovers, scholars, soldiers, politicians, businessmen, actors, and Robinson -- the caricature of the average man of the cold-war era. His vision is the opposite Whitman with a vision that's closer to Kafka and Samuel Beckett, expressing the pointlessness of war and mechanistic civilization. As he writes: "If this room is our world, then let / This world be damned. Open this roof / For one last monstrous flood / To sweep away this floor, these chairs, / This bed that takes me to no sleep. / Under the black sky of our circumstance, / Mumbling of wet barometers, I stare / At citied dust that soils the glass / While thunder perishes. The heroes perish / Miles from here. Their blood runs heavy in the grass, / Sweet, restless, clotted, sickening, / Runs to the rivers and the seas, the seas / That are the source of that devouring flood / That I await, that I must perish by." Kees is one of the best American poets and deserves a wider audience.

--Alexander Shaumyan, poet, author of "Spirit of Rebellion"

If the passive despair of Prufrock (or should we say Eliot in a Prufrock mood) could be entwined with the searing wit and rage of S. Plath, the result might resemble Weldon Kees' unforgettable best poems -- twenty of them perhaps, all included in this book. And the comparison with Plath is fair I think, not because both lives ended in suicide but because both were spectacularly inventive imagists and masters of the craft whose poems peer into the abyss. Although this collection contains some of the most harrowing English language poems of our times -- the final poem in the "Robinson" series, certainly -- flashes of black comedy ensure that this book is as pleasing as it is troubling. I for one, find the following lines from "The Crime Club" devilishly pleasing: "Consider the clues: the potato masher in a vase,/The torn photograph of a Wesleyan basketball team,/...The unsent fan letter to Shirley Temple,/The Hoover button on the lapel of the deceased,/The note, 'To be killed this way is quite all right with me.'"

Kees is a master of image, and has a profound sense of time and place--his language has the direct and unselfconscious quality of a newspaper headline, and his meters are natural and terse. There is a lumious, jarring quality to his work that makes you feel like you'd found something important that's been lost for a long time. You have. This is the first collection of his work that has ever been generally available.

It would have been sad indeed if the work of Weldon Kees had disappeared into obscurity, as it was dangerously close to doing. Nothing escapes this poets' dark, razor edge sensibility;
the whole thing reads as a kind of pessimistic culture shock. Taking his cues from Joyce and Eliot's "Waste Land", he is pitiless in his assessment of the human condition and civilization.

He is not, however, tiringly depressing like Philip Larkin. He has a voice all his own and it is compelling and vivid. It is pretty obvious that his "Robinson" poems are autobiographical, at least in terms of Robinson's perceptions of the world around him. "For My Daughter" is a poem you will not soon forget.

For my part, I do not believe Weldon Kees is still alive. After reading and re-reading this collection I can't help but see that as wishful thinking. You can't fake this kind of sincerity. I would liken him to Leopardi, Beckett, and other masters of poetic darkness, but he has a voice so individual that he needs no predecessors. An absolute must read.

Weldon Kees has been recommended to me by more than one person. And the reason is that he is a very dark poet, and a very interesting one at that. Kees is slightly outside of academia, though his reputation is getting bigger. I found his earlier work to be better than his later work, that's not to say that there isn't good stuff in his later work, just that I preferred his early work. I'd also recommend you did up a good biography of Kees, since he also has an interesting life.

this book has a lot more value to me than anything. my grandpa used to recite these poems to us grandkids, and now i've lost him. and this book is just so wonderful. it's in great condition, and i just love it!! thank you amazon!

I was given a book of Edgar A. Guest's poetry as a birthday present when I was a kid . . . it doesn't seem like it could be that long ago, but it is. He has remained my favorite poet. He's not fancy, doesn't use free verse, or symbolism --- which is exactly why, forty years after first being introduced to this poet, I still sit down from time to time just to browse through a book of poems by Edgar A. Guest just for the sheer joy of reading his poetry.

Selected favorites of this collection are "A boy and his Stomach", "A bear Story", "The Mothers Watch". Great down to earth type poetry. Easy to read and understand.

Recommend for all ages

I have an older copy of this book and I find it to be the most interesting poetic book I have ever encountered. The book was property of my belated grandfather and it means the world to my entire family. I find that he shows a wonderful view of all the points in life that we come in contact with. I recommend this book to anyone with an open view of life because this book is the life of a very talented man. He shows all aspects of situations and feelings that we all go through in life.

The poetry in the book was great, the binding less thanexpected. The paper was of poor quality and the print was hard toread, very faint print and missing some letters. Appeared to have beenprinted in someones garage with a cheap printer. The ...printing was listed as printing the book. ...should hang theirheads in shame!

This book covers every one of the many, many revisions of Leaves of Grass. Great for enjoymen as well as research.

Walt Whitman is, indisputably, America's poet. He is vast, large, contradictory (Do I contradict myself?/Very well then I contradict myself/(I am large, I contain multitudes)), beautiful and loose and American to the core!

His greatest poem is, in my opinion, "Song of Myself." This is far from a controversial opinion, and for good reason; the eighty-odd page long poem is an astounding epic--albeit, an unusual one, but a monumental achievement of literature. It is Whitman as Everyman, Whitman as you, as me, as all other mortals from China to Peru. I quote his beautiful closing stanzas:

"I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I
Love,
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you"

Such beauty in verse, especially free verse, is scarcely found, and, when found, must be cherished. There is a reason almost all poets after him--and not just poets in the English language, either (Borges, for example, aspired to be the "Whitman of Argentina")--have been influenced by him more so than any other poet besides perhaps Shakespeare and Milton.

Nor is "Song of Myself" his only great poem, though it surely be his greatest. His elegy for Abraham Lincoln, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" is monumental (the great critic Harold Bloom declares it Whitman's finest poem, and thus the greatest of all American poems--I dissent, but uphold its marvel nonetheless), as is almost all of his wonderful corpus of poetry. Whitman is remarkable; he is inescapable; he is beautiful. Read him, and thou shalt be infinitely rewarded.

I was turned on to "Uncle Walt," as my high school teacher described him, while taking American Literature, and am thankful for it. While Whitman has a unique style of writing, I am drawn to it and enjoy this book emensely. I definetely recommend this book to any Walt Whitman fan, and to those that appreciate American poetry.

Whitman is a special poet. As you read through his poems you get the feeling that you are not reading poetry but rather going through Whitman's mind. His compulsive style both simple and meticulous, his whirling rhythym, and his proud usage of the first person, all give you a vivid glimpse of the world through his eyes and heart; the eyes of his time and the poetic heart of his thoughts. Yet even though Whitman talks to you in social vocab. you know that you are listening to a poet because ast is ineveitable to sense his power to overwhelm. Lorca described Whitman as "viejo" and "hermoso", and these descriptions are true of Whitman the poet as Whitman the man. After reading this book you'll be short of words to describe it as I appear to be. It has too much inside it. But it is beautiful because the words inside it come from a man who knew how to appreciate and merge with the antiquity and great elderiness of the world.

not only the greatest selling poet who has been dead for more than fifty years, not only the poet whose translations are regularly read abroad, not only the poet whose name has in-spired countless others, not only the poet who freed us from the manacles of rhyme and decapitated the tyranny of meter but also a man of enthusiasm, a titan, a man whose soul floods with belch, fume and quake, a man who confronts the ravenous centaurs of humdrum and blugeons them swiftly in a spasmo of frenzy-fire, a wanderer, a searcher, one whose mind travels vig-orously throughout the cosmimosa and embellishes it with jac-inths of thought and blooms of popy! not only a man of gargan-tuan passions, one who rages in the face of metallic storm but also a man whose depressions, fogs, glooms and sensitivity to flowers, softness and the defenseless bloom in stark heart-throb. no doubt he is a poet well worth a place beside such other titano-giants such as goethe, milton and homer, for he too sings the song of war, his book is a chanson of bellum for he sings of the battle of the passions, the climaximum of the emo-ceans, he challenges the raw specters of gash, their eyes oozing of slime-drab and rather than succumb to the oxen of indiffer-ence he instead triumphs over the gray and his book thus re-sounds in shinning claria! his is an adventure of thought sur-real in its gusto, jumping in its excitica and wild in its leap of ideas! thank celestium that he liberated us poets from the ab-surd manacles of rhyme and meter and we can now surge through horiza with countless new devices, metaphors and similies awaiting in our platoons! he is the cougar of innova-tion, the lion of spasmo and the giant of vision.

kyle foley, author of Lorelei Pursued and Wrestles with God

Nicely bound. Really does have all of his poems. Good paper quality. Very satisfied.

I read some stuff by Carl Sandburg when I was in high school, but now that I am considering writing as more of an art form I wanted to delve more into poetry, and this book is definately a great collection of one of America's greatest poets

I am a big fan of Sandburg. This is the most complete collection of his works that I have seen. His poetry is so full of strength and hope. Nothing is too frilly but still very beautiful. His poetry always reminds me of the verbal equivalent of a piece of art by Norman Rockwell - true down to the dirt on the skin but so full of awe and respect for his subject. Have a wonderful time reading this collection!

For me Sandburg is the poet of 'immortal lines' gleaned from anthologies. " The cat comes in on little cloud's feet' " Tell me if the lovers are the losers in the tombs, the cool tombs" " Chicago, beefhandler, wheat- stacker of the nation" Sandburg writes clearly and some might say is poetry is just prose chopped up into lines, but he has a strength and a humane sense that I find admirable. He is not given today the attention I believe he deserves. An inspiring poet who should be read more than he is.

Fifty years ago Carl Sandburg's poetry could be found in nearly every library, classroom and (in some form) home in America, but in the hurried twenty-first century, where too much bad poetry has spoiled whole living generations on the art, he is all-but lost to our social consciousness. This poet of freedom (even his poems disobey every respected rule of form) penned verses that celebrated the American spirit as no other writer had since Walt Whitman. If presented with a sampling of his most famous lines, the average American would probably light up and say, "Oh, yeah! Okay, I've heard that one." Reading the collected works of this Midwesterner is full of such moments of re-discovery. All of Sandburg's published books are here, putting his many hundreds of poems on display. His finest work, the controversial, slow-moving, stream of consciousness piece "The People, Yes" alone makes this anthology a gift to modern readers, but many other unexpected gems await to delight, challenge, inform, or taunt with sheer irony. Though some of these poems date back nearly a century, at no time does Sandburg ever sound anything but cutting-edge and post-modern. He is one of the greats for all ages of man.