Richard Wilbur Books

Siebold's zany illustrations accompany whimsical poems by Wilbur which combine plays on words with instructions about language. Kids receive some fun lessons on word usage along with some fun images representing the best of fantasy.

Richard Wilbur and J. Otto Seibold have come together and collaborated on a very special, one-of-a-kind book of poetry. As it says on the book jacket flap, "Richard Wilbur's been playing with his words again!" Where else will you find a sob in disobey, a bug in a bugle or an ant in the pantry? These unique poems, containing words within words are silly, witty and most of all, fun to read. Mr Seibold's busy, expressive illustrations compliment each poem with bright colors and humor and will keep all readers entranced with his attention to detail. The perfect gift for kids 3 to 93, The Pig in the Spigot is a charming, amusing collection the whole family will enjoy.

Great illustrations, a fun addition to a phonics-based curriculum! I really enjoy reading this with my grandchildren. Some of the words will probably be new for many children... a good thing!

I really like these little poems -- and the OPPOSITES books by Wilbur, too (recently republished in a single volume) but the humor and style might not be appreciated by all kids. I don't think is aimed at kids just learning how to read, it's more of an introduction to light poetry and wordplay.

I have to add I just don't like the J. Otto Seibold illustrations much (well, the grateful little pig rescued from the spigot is cute) -- I have some friends who love the Mr. Lunch series and I never really got it, they just seem cluttered and ugly to me. But Richard Wilbur is great!

My 8 year old son likes these poems, too, though perhaps not as much as I do -- on the other hand, he doesn't seem to find the illustrations as ugly as I do, either, so we may balance each other out.

We spent some time after reading the book trying to think of similar word combinations -- we might even write our own poems about them. Any book that gets me playing word games with Morris gets 5 stars! (Not that it's hard to get him to play, it's just so much fun to do it!)

Incidentally, the opposite books are great for this, too!

This book was not enjoyed by either of my children. It is so ridiculous that children in the age range for whom its written think its stupid, and the young ones who tolerate witless nonsense don't understand the meaning of the words. I have an eleven year old and a four year old, both of which were bored by the second page. The word search within words is a great concept, but I expected there to be some sense about it, so the kids could be entertained AND challenged by the text. I am very disappointed.

To call someone a "Don Juan" today is to call him a womanizer, or if you're willing to be a bit more generous in your interpretation, a smooth-operating romancer. That was the beginning and end of my knowledge of all things Don Juan until about two years ago when I first saw the legend of Don Juan performed on stage. It was then that I learned that "womanizer" only begins to scratch the surface of the character, and that Don Juan is in fact an unrepentant libertine who undoes women at every opportunity and then moves on to his next target with the clearest of consciences and without so much as a glance backwards.

Recently, I was reminded of that play and that in turn has spurred an interest in reading the various interpretations of the Don Juan story. The most well known are the original 1630 play by the Spanish playwright Tirso de Molina; Moliere's version that followed a few decades later; a 19th century play by another Spanish playwright by the name of Jose Zorrilla; and Byron's unfinished magnum opus.

An English version of Tirso de Molina's play has been hard to come by, so my reading of the many Don Juan's began with Richard Wilbur's translation of Moliere's work, and it proved to be a thoroughly enjoyable starting point. Moliere's play wonderfully balances wit and at times even rollick with deeper, empathetic moments, such as a powerful scene in which Don Juan's father denounces his son for his baseness and for his disregard of his family's noble legacy, which Don Juan knowingly cheapens through his morally corrupt lifestyle. As for Don Juan himself, there is no deed that is too wicked. As the play opens, we learn that his most recent conquest was a certain Doña Elvira, a nun whom Don Juan, under promise of marriage, beguiled into leaving the convent and breaking her vows. When Don Juan sets his eye on his next seducee, Don Juan's explanation of why he can no longer bear to be with Doña Elvira only adds impiety to his already impious deed, and it's a wonder that God does not make a dark smudge of Don Juan right then and there. Yet despite Don Juan's utterly contemptible acts, Moliere does not make him entirely unsympathetic. Don Juan may be a monster, but he's one that possesses the gifts of charm and eloquence, and we can't help but to find him fascinating. His defense of his actions, and by extension of his immorality, is brilliant and perverse and deeply seductive all at once; his discourse on hypocrisy is sharp and scathing and tempts us, not entirely without success, to reconsider his moral abrogation against the backdrop of society's insincerity. For all his deplorable acts, at least it can be said that Don Juan is true to himself, even in the face of terrible consequences.

As for Richard Wilbur's work in translating Moliere's play, I'm always somewhat reluctant to comment on the quality of a translation. For one, the very reason that I'm reading a translation is that I'm unversed in the original language, and second, I rarely fully read multiple translations of a given work. When there are multiple translations available, I generally read a few passages in each and compare them to find which one speaks to me more. In the case of Moliere's Don Juan, that translation was Wilbur's; the language is vibrant and modern and free of the stodginess that I encountered in older translations. If you're interested in reading Moliere's Don Juan, which I wholeheartedly recommend, then this I believe is the translation to go with.

This play is a treat to read, and I can't wait to see it performed. Moliere, however, must share the spotlight with the translator, Richard Wilbur, who shows an elegant flair for conversational prose. The contemporary American reader lives in a land of waning religiosity, yet one in which theocracy is ironically gaining influence in national politics. It is in this context that we have to smile, if not laugh, when Don Juan says,

"It's no longer shameful to be a dissembler; hypocrisy is now a fashionable vice and all the fashionable vices pass for virtues. The part of the God-fearing man is the best possible role to play nowadays, and in our present society the hypocrite's profession has extraordinary advantages. It's an art whose dishonesty always goes unchallenged...The hypocrite, by means of pious pretenses, attaches himself to the devout, and anyone who then assails him is set upon by a great phalanx of the godly...The true believers are easily hoodwinked by the false...I can't tell you how many men I know who, by means of a feigned devotion, have glossed over the sins of their youth, wrapped themselves in the cloak of religion, and in that holy disguise are now free to be the worst of scoundrels!"

Amazon's rules prohibit me from disclosing the ending, though it has been known for some 331 years, but I will tell you that it leaves Don Juan's valet, Sganarelle, wondering how he'll ever get his back pay.

"What a fine creed that is! So far as I can see, your religion consists of arithmetic." --said to Don Juan by his valet, Sganarelle

Richard Wilbur won the National Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize, and he has served as Poet Laureate of the United States. His translation of Moliere's once censored comedy, Don Juan (1665), successfully conveys to English readers not only the words but also the humor of the original. For his translation, Wilbur wrote an insightful Introduction explicating the play's moral subtleties.

The play's renowned French comic dramatist, Moliere (1622-1673), previously authored Tartuffe (1664), a comedy lampooning religious hypocrisy. However, Tartuffe offended pious sensibilities to the point that performances of it halted prematurely. As observed in Wilbur's Introduction, Moliere may have hoped to placate religious militants opposed to Tartuffe with a comedy about a young, wealthy, atheistic, amorous scoundrel that gets his just punishment in hell.

However, if placation of religious scruples partially motivated Moliere to select the Don Juan character, his intention failed. The comedy outraged the pious, forcing him to make cuts after the first performance. Like Tartuffe, Don Juan closed early although it was a box-office success. Wilbur suggests that the primary reason it offended is its moral ambiguity. For although Don Juan gets his just punishment for his wickedness, mockery of orthodoxy is just below the surface of the plot.

For example, in Act 1, Scene 1, orthodox beliefs are implicitly put on a par with superstition when Don Juan's valet, Sganarelle, reports that his master "doesn't believe in Heaven, or Hell, or werewolves even." In Act 3, Scene 1, Sganarelle asks if Don Juan believes in Heaven, Hell, and the Devil, to each of which he makes plain his disbelief. Finally, Sganarelle asks if he believes in the Bogeyman, and he answers, "Don't be an idiot." Sganarelle then objects, "Now there you go too far, for there's nothing truer in this world than the Bogeyman; I'll stake my life on that." Thus, Moliere casts a nincompoop as an apologist of orthodoxy.

Another offensive characterization is the pious Poor Man in Scene 2 of Act 3. He is an idiot living alone for ten years in the woods praying for the prosperity of those who give him alms while he himself lacks "a crust of bread to chew on." Don Juan suggests that he worry less about others and pray to Heaven for a coat. Offering him a gold coin, Don Juan says, "Here it is, take it. Take it, I tell you. But first you must blaspheme." The Poor Man replies, "No, Sir, I'd rather starve to death."

Perhaps most offensive is Don Juan's explanation of why he has decided to become a religious hypocrite in Act 5, Scene 2. Being a hypocrite will make it easier to hide his misconduct and make obtaining forgiveness easier by repentance if found out. Moreover, being the hypocrite will enable him to accuse his enemies of impiety, thereby stirring up against them "a swarm of ignorant zealots."

Thus, in Moliere's Don Juan, nothing is sacred, and Richard Wilbur's translation captures every outrageous bit of it. Buy it, read it and laugh!

I had no intention of reading a romance type novel, I dont even read them and I happenned to pick this up , just to pass the time while I waited in line. I was mesperized and laughing by the time I was at the front of the line. I putt back the book I was going to buy and bought this. You wont be disappointed. Perfect reading for a cold snowy night!

Wilbur faithfully reproduces some of Moliere's more experimental versification in this update of Plautus' Amphitruo, the story of Greek general who is impersonated by the god Jupiter-- so that Jupiter can share a bed with his wife! Moliere, a master of farce, plays this mistaken identity to its comic hilt.

Wilbur's translation here is peerless and his Afterword is wonderfully informative. This is not my favorite of his Moliere translations (I like The School for Wives and The Misanthrope) but I'd be hard-pressed to name a fault. Voltaire said of this play, "I laughed so hard that I fell over backwards." I didn't fall over backwards, but I got a good chuckle or two out if it.

This is an extremely funny, well written (& translated) play; Wilbur does a terrific job with the English verse, which makes the play read like an original--rather than a translation. Finding a well translated version of non-english written plays can often be difficult (especially with so many translations available), but this one is truly terrific.

This was the first play I had read by Moliere, and it wasn't at all what I was expected. It is a very light, easy and hilarious read. I laugh out loud each time I read it.

this book is pretty cool it definitly inspired the creation of another cuckold resource.I recommend this book[..].

i greatly enjoyed this book. it was amusing and terribly funny. i could barely put it down. the characters were life-like and i found myself wrapped up in their twisted plot. i would recommend this book for anyone that wants a liesurely read.

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Fluff or not? Fun and fluffy
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Power struggles on a global level, evil hidden around every twist and turn, a hero with guts and sensitivity, and a heroine who's a trained killer, international spy, and a fashion maven with brains. Although the premise is typically otherworldly, the story never rests from start to finish, you get to travel to and fro on a Lear following our two protagonists around the planet as they battle an unidentifiable evil of global proportions. Following Stride and Magda is anything but exhausting and filled with thrills to the final scene.

---- What I liked ----
The twists and turns. This one was hard to put down

---- What I didn't ----
Not much

There were only fifteen passengers for the British Airways flight at Victoria Airport on the island of Mahe in the oceanic republic of the Seychelles. But one alone made the others seem insignificant by the sheer splendour of her physical presence. Once aboard she becomes a brutal and fanatical terrorist, spearhead of an international organisation intent on holding the world's powers to ransom. As the search for the power brain controlling the terrorists heightens, the explosive passions aroused by the beautiful hijacker reach an unforgettable climax in the sun scorched deserts of Galilee. Top suspense and action with a very well designed plot.

Great book on the issues of pirates stealing elephant ivory. Informative about Africa as a whole. Great read! Smith gets a bit preachy at times, but you learn about the ivory trade, Africa, and it is suspenseful to boot! Tops!

I am a Wilbur Smith fan since reading THE SEVENTH SCROLL which was wonderful. This book I had a hard time on the first two chapters and then it takes off and really provided excitement. One of my favorite scenes is when the main character's daughter is kidnapped and he must find her with few clues. I really liked
this book and it stays with you. Also the tension when he suspects his love interest of being a terrorist was acute.

Besides the 7th SCROLL Hungry as the Sea was a huge hit with me
as well as most of his other books. Smith is able to write action scenes that really stick with one's imagination.

I am eagerly awaiting his next novel.

I'm a big "Willllburrr" fan, but this book was disappointing. This book was was not as engaging as his historical novels (which I ADORE), & parts of it were ludicrously implausible.

The Misanthrope (1666) is a short play, one that can be read in a single sitting. Moliere's humorous style has weathered the centuries quite well, and footnotes are not needed.

The protagonist is the misguided misanthrope, Alceste. His distaste for mankind does have one exception. He is enamored with the attractive, vivacious Celimene, but seemingly so is everyone else including Alceste's chief rival, Oronte, the two marquises, Acaste and Clitandre, and unnamed others in the background.

The first scene introduces Philinte, an avowed friend of Alceste, that is unsuccessfully trying to moderate Alceste's adamant refusal to adhere to any social convention, custom, or civility which involves any form of dissimulation or flattery. Philinte argues that Alceste should torment himself a little less about the vices of his period and be more lenient of human nature and foibles. Good sense avoids all extremes. And Philinte questions whether Alceste is perhaps inconsistent in that he applies a different standard to the coquettish Celimene. The more pragmatic Philinte suggests that Celimene's cousin, Eliante, is more sincere and stable, and would be a more compatible choice. With uncompromising honesty Alceste agrees: "It is true; my good sense tells me so every day; but good sense does not always rule love."

As the play proceeds, Moliere's misanthrope does become increasingly irritable with those about him, but I still found Alceste less mean-spirited than other misanthropes found in literature. Despite his sincere philosophical stance, Alceste remains in his awkward, humorous position relative to Celimene. It proves difficult to be a fully committed misanthrope while in love with a coquette.

I am reviewing a Dover Thrift edition reprint of Moliere's famous comedic satire.

"The Misanthrope" - this is the only play I read. This play is superficial and degrades, as always, women. The woman in this play is stereotyped as a flirtatious girl with many suitors. I did not find this play at all a farce and found the rhyming childish and annoying. The play ends without a true ending and will leave you wanting the time you spent reading it back. I do not recommend.

Moliere said that ' there is no comedy without truth, and no truth without comedy'. And his plays are a scathing and humorous depiction of a simplified, and stylized human nature. Whether it is religious hypocrisy in ' Tartuffe' , miserliness in 'The Miser' or misanthropy in ' The Misantrhope' Moliere often focuses on one quality in order to satirize and society and mankind in general. In the Misanthrope the main character Alceste tells the truth to everyone ( except himself) and in so doing alienates everyone. This is against the advice of his best friend Philinte. At the same time he is in love with the frivolous Celimene who he attempts to change by constantly criticizing. He begs that she retire with him away from the corruption of society but she prefers society to him. The play ends with Philinte and his fiancee trying to persuade Alceste to remain.
Moliere writes in a clear, simple direct language and the surface sense of his work is readily understood. His view of human nature is harsh and critical , but redeemed by a comic laughter suggesting we are wiser if we do not take ourselves all that seriously.

It is my blief that everyone should read this book. I am a high school senior and find it very insightful. In addition to that, it is also very ammusing. It is an accurate commentary on society.

You might not think a play in verse written in the 17th century would be accessible and entertaining today, but this one's hilarious. Somehow the formal rhyming couplets make everything funnier. Get the Donald Frame translation - I've seen some others that weren't nearly as good.

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Fluff or not? Fluff
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Characters are predictable in this saga of mining, gambling, corruption, blackmail, ambition, and lust - the usual supporting ingredients for swashbuckling, lascivious protagonist in middle management at an African mining company. Rod Ironsides plays the poor underdog in a high stakes game of love, life, and death. Predictably he comes out on top with both the girl and the company while the unsurprisingly, predictable villain ends up . . .

---- What I liked ----
Not really very much, once again an easy, light, read that wasn't an entire waste of time.

---- What I didn't ----
This was a harlequin romance with a little mining and stock market corruption thrown in to try to appeal to a broader audience: the story really lacked the descriptive mass and African influence that is Smith's trademark.
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There is some criticism of this book it's too short or too simple, and in a way, it's justified. This book is 37 years old! Would you compare a 37 year old movie with today's movies? Or even fashion, or a football team's playbook? Things get better, writers improve.

Having said that, I still like this book. I don't know anything about gold mining, but it seems technically sound. True, the characters are simplistic, the plot is simplistic. Villians are evil and get their just due. Good guys win. There are no double or triple twists in the book. It's just simple straightfoward story about gold mining and a few characters in it.

A simple straightfoward story with a nice ending. Heck, that sounds better by the minute! In fact, that's what I wish the world would be like today, where you know who the good guys are and you know who the bad guys are and they lose! Yeah, that's what we need more of! Two thumbs up, definitely!

Transport yourself back to good old 1970 and enjoy this book! You need a break from 2007!

I've read many of Wilbur Smith's novels and enjoyed them tremendously. This book falls into the category of a short story for the author. It was entertaining but didn't have the depth of detail that his longer books have. I got the feeling that this could have been a longer novel cut short for some reason.

GOLD MINE is about a stock market manipulation scheme affecting the stocks of South African gold mining companies by sabotaging the mines. Much of the action of the novel is set in a gold mine. The extensive descriptions of the mine, mining methods, and processing methods are clear and accurate-with one possible exception. Mr. Smith's use of the term "heavy media separation" seems to conflict with standard usage. I found the characters to be shallow-which really means that I could not identify nor empathize well with them. But this is, after all, an action novel, and it is quite entertaining as such. The plot is predictable, but not plodding.

"Gold Mine" is a great adventure book. Rod Ironsides becomes manager of the Sonder Ditch and must fulfill his duty the best he can. Rod becomes involved with Terry Steyner, the wife of Rod's manager. Eventually, Rod has to make a plan for the drilling of the Big Dipper. The Big Dipper is full of water and any slight miscalculation could prove fatal.

From beginning to end, "Gold Mine" is one of the most exciting books I've ever read and I recommend anybody who likes adventure books to pick it up right away.

"Phaedra" has very good suspense, and the language really flowed well. All the grave sins upon which disaster builds are basically sins of the mind only - no incest ever really took place. And Hippolytus was only Phaedra's stepson. Much ado about nothing.

Wilbur's translation of Phaedra is excellent, and I would highly recommend it.

This year I am using Jean Racine's "Phaedra" as the one non-classical text in my Classical Greek and Roman Mythology Class (yes, I know, "Classical" makes "Greek and Roman" redundant, but it was not my title). In Greek mythology, Phaedra was the half-sister of the Minotaur who was married to Theseus after the hero abandoned her sister Ariadne (albeit, according to some versions of what happened in Crete). Phaedra fell in love with her step-son Hippolytus, who refused her advances. Humiliated, she falsely accused him of having raped her.

My students read "Phaedra" after Euripides's "Hippolytus" as part of an analogy criticism assignment, in which they compare/contrast the two versions, which are decidedly different, to say the least. In the "original" Greek version Hippolytus is a follower of Artemis, and the jealous Aphrodite causes his stepmother to fall in love with him. Phaedra accuses Hippolytus of rape and then hangs herself; Theseus banished his son who is killed before Artemis arrives to tell the truth. In Racine's version Hippolytus is a famous hater of women who falls in love with Aricia, a princess of the blood line of Athens. When false word comes that Theseus is dead, Phaedra moves to put her own son on the throne. In the end the same characters end up dead, but the motivations and other key elements are different.

While I personally would not go so far as to try and argue how Racine's neo-classical version represents the France of 1677, I have found that comparing and contrasting the two versions compels students to think about the choices each dramatist has made. Both the similarities and the differences between "Hippolytus" and "Phaedra" are significant enough to facilitate this effort. Note: Other dramatic versions of this myth include Seneca's play "Phaedra," "Fedra" by Gabriele D'Annunzio, "Thesee" by Andrea Gide, and "The Cretan Woman" by Robinson Jeffers.

This is arguably Racine's best known play. It is based on an earlier version of the play by Euripides. It is written at a relatively late period in Racine's career when he was moving back toward Jansensim and a fully religious life. The play is considered the most perfect French example of a tragedy written according to the classic rules. The story is one of illicit passion and its price. One strange idea of Racine was that the 'gods' forced people to sin, and then punished them for this. This cruelty of the gods somehow suits the whole tenor of Racine's work which has a certain fierce kind of cruelty in it. Phaedra the second wife of the king Theseus falls passionately in love with Theseus' son Hippolytus. Hippolytus who supposedly hates woman is in fact secretly in love with Arcis. Upon receiving a message that Theseus has died Phaedra contain contain her passion and confesses her love to a horrified Hippolytus. Then it is revealed that the message of Theseus dead like Mark Twain's has been premature. Theseus returns and urged on by her wicked servant Oenone Phaedra indicates that Hippolytus has attempted to seduce her. Outraged Theseus orders that his son be executed. Phaedra upon learning this thinks to confess, but then learns that Hippolytus is not indifferent women as he has pretended to her but in fact loves Arcis. In a fit of jealousy she allows Theseus to carry out the execution. Upon learning of Hippolytus death, she commits suicide.
The virtous Phaedra who worked so hard to overcome her passion for Hippolytus has been defeated by that passion. The passion, the sinful nature of the human heart has ruthlessly brought to the tragic death of the innocence. This is the harsh and bleak world of Racine's tragedy, the cruel world in which sinner and innocent alike go to their doom.

The play is a good one. Racine manages to make a classical tragedy very real and very resonant (to 17th Century France and to us.) Many translators have tried their hand at it recently, including Ted Hughes.

I'm a big fan of Richard Wilbur's translations of Moliere, so I thought I'd give this one a try. Wilbur manages to reproduce the rhyme and metrical scheme of the original, but compared to his other translations, this one is pretty dead. Where you expect high-flying rhetoric, Wilbur never modulates out of his fusty base tone. The original play is devoid of comedy, which is a shame, since Wilbur is so good at it.

The bottom line is that this translation is quite readable, if not perhaps definitive. Those with access to a library might want to compare all the new translations and see which one suits them best. Fans of Wilbur are advised to stick to his Molieres.

A close friend recommended me this book, so I bought it and waited for it with much anticipation. I've had it for over a month, and now I can honestly say that I wasted 15 bucks.
Mr. Krisak put this reader to sleep on many occasions, and never delighted or informed, or even evoked a chuckle. He is just another drab and dull formalist with a wooden ear that has never heard music.

But I'll give him a star for the effort, since very few poets write in meter today.

These are skillful, accessible poems in traditional forms. The first section, called "Letting Go," dramatizes the persona's
feelings about his father and his own life. The following sections of the book contain a wide range of poems, including Robinson-like character sketches, meditative pieces, and a section of poems that are renditions of well known poems in other languages, including three Horatian odes.
The persona behind all of these poems is, in fact, very Horatian. He represents himself as a man who, though childless, enjoys domestic pleasures and happiness, and who looks bemusedly on the pathos of life.
The most successful poems here are tactful and canny in how
they show a sudden awareness of the reader. They are at home
in their own conventions and resolve themselves in a satisfying way.
Because he cultivates a very familiar set of forms and topics, Krisak demands of himself a high level of felicity in composition, phrasing and invention. I like best the poems in which the quotidian and emotional realities represented fall a little outside the more familiar topics which elsewhere Krisak skillfully re-visits. These qualities are present, for example, in "York Beach," "Absconditus," and "Birds From Afar," which surprised me with this description of a flock of birds:

"And yet their soaring seems so blind
As dozens wheel back, swoop, and swerve,
Like chaff that's changed its mind
Or love that's lost its nerve."

I like that chaff changing its mind, the parallel between "chaff" and "love," the succession of consonant sounds in the last two lines. One would have to winnow though quite a few contemporary books of poetry to find one as rewarding as this.

This is a beautiful book of poetry which might be called "old-fashioned" if it wasn't so darned good.

Len Krisak still believes in meter and rhyme, god bless him, but that doesn't mean he restricts himself to square-rigged topics. He ruminates on everything from Lot's wife to grain silos to "The Blue Dahlia" -- though in the end, of course, he's really giving us a peek at his own soul.

Many of these poems have a stately, faintly melancholy air which gives the collection a remarkable amount of heft. My particular favorites included "View from a Midwest Motel Window" and the mown-grass aroma of "Held."

“So far as I’m concerned,” said J. V. Cunningham, “poetry is metrical writing. If it’s anything else, I don’t know what it is.” As general acceptance of Cunningham’s definition would disqualify a majority of contemporary poets, let us insist that his definition is inadequate, that no good can come of it––

But here is one of the remnant of whom it could be said, ‘He is a poet,’ even if Cunningham’s definition applied. Len Krisak’s poetry is metrical writing, in form.

The cover of Even As We Speak shows a picture of Roman columns standing in a field of dry grasses and tall, leafless trees, against a white sky. “Even as we speak,” the picture tells us, “time wears away the old forms.” The picture is beautiful in its evocation of time past and passing, with its faint promise of renewal in the slender young trees.

Turning the cover and entering the poems themselves, the reader finds the old forms made new again. Here are sonnets, quatrains, rondeaus, rhymed couplets, a ballade... Is the reader so indoctrinated with prevailing opinion as to consider these forms outdated, to assume that the poet who writes in form must choose tired themes, clichéd expression, worn-out material? Only look at the titles of Krisak’s poems: “Dying at a Resort,” “Ocean Kayakers in the Morning,” “High School Trench Coat...” Those are not Tennyson’s subjects.

“Father / Shaving / Mirror,” perhaps the most masterful of the poems in this volume, may be read as a correction to the erroneous view that form limits expression. The act of shaving is a form of human behavior that persists because we have arrived at no better way of removing the bristles from our faces. It takes on ritual significance because boys do not shave and men do. The ritual aspect of shaving implies a kind of passage, a handing down of the old ways, a growing into them. Growing older, the poet sees in his own reflection the image of the father he remembers.

“...from here on in, I’ll cut

Not just my own, but someone else’s cheek:
That stubbled cheek I kissed when I was eight.
Its beard is mine now.”

It is the very “formality” of the act of shaving, its series of repeated gestures the same for the son as for his father before him, that allows this insight into what is communicated from one generation to the next. We are reminded that one’s true place in human society is (in Burke’s phrase) “among the dead, the living, and those yet unborn––the community of souls.” Krisak writes, “We greet / The day in one another, realize / Our more-than-homely task...” How more-than-homely is the task of shaving, seen in this light, as form. The poem, of course, is written in form, in rhymed quatrains: thus its heightened expression.

Krisak’s acknowledgement of what a man inherits, especially if that man be a poet, is not limited to the one poem. The volume includes poems dedicated to three contemporary poets who write traditionalist verse, A. M. Juster, Timothy Steele, and Richard Wilbur. At its front is a dedication to a fourth master-poet and mentor, Rhina Espaillat. Krisak is a poet who does not take for granted the gift that makes him a poet, nor the many gifts of example or encouragement received along the way. Even As We Speak is a book replete with gratitude. Krisak’s respect for the craft of poetry, and for those who are skilled in that craft, is evident in everything he does, and he does so much: he is a true servant of the Muse, as his many fine translations included in this volume attest. Petrarch, Horace, Akhmatova, and others benefit by his literary energy. Even Samuel Johnson, that master of the English language, gets help from Len Krisak, as one of his poems written in Latin is translated here.

Begin there, on page 62, with the translation of Johnson’s Latin poem, “Skia.” No one will need suggest that you then begin again, at the beginning.

When I was growing up, my mother read us children a book called "Loudmouse" by Richard Wilbur, illustrated by Don Almquist. We enjoyed it thoroughly, and I still have the copy we read, albeit in somewhat shabby condition. It is the First Crowell-Collier Press Edition of 1963. The $13 copy of Loudmouse available from Amazon.com is extremely disappointing because: * It is extremely small--less than half the size of the original. * It is printed entirely in B/W--the original had black and brown illustrations. * All the illustrations have been completely redrawn (apparently by the same artist). They look very different, and nowhere near as good. * Positioning of text and illustrations from page to page is totally different, killing much of the punch and excitement of the original book. I recommend that potential buyers wait for the book as it was originally published to be re-issued, before wasting any money on this version. --Darel Finley, smokin@ghgcorp.com, dfinley@telescan.com

I got this book when I was in elementary school (I'm now a senior in college) and I still love it. I plan on sharing it with the kindergarten class I'm working with.

My first exposure to this book was a storyteller who kept her audience of school teachers totally enthralled. Later, I ordered a copy of the book and have read it numerous times to my fourth grade classes and other teachers have borrowed it and read it to there classes!! Moreover, my grandchildren love to read it along with me! The formatting of the book had nothing to do with my enthusiasm for it!