I am not much of a hand for reading "modern poetry," nor am I much moved or delighted by the sundry aggregations of paint and canvas now hopefully or slyly alleged to be art. These are points about which there is genuine argument and dissent. Perhaps I am getting old and sentimental or maybe the quality is improving or maybe Hayden Carruth just writes better poetry than many of the avant-garde poets. In this elegant little volume he has included a number of moving and some very sad poems which look back to the happier days of a marriage now gone asunder. When he is in a more cheerful and simply observant mood he has a wonderful ability to catch the feeling of a New England town.
Any connoisseur of typography and the making of books knows of the Prairie Press in Iowa City and its founder and owner, Carroll