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… The language is one of interesting and significant survivals, and it is probably the most sparklingly fascinating … Pretty little gal when I’m lonesome— Sweet heaven when I die— Sweet heaven when I die. This high spot from a droning … the progress of the seasons, changing of the skies, the coming of nights and consequent dawns, the old established …

… down a washboard gravel road—some left-of-nowhere oil company throughway punched into the Peruvian Amazon—when the … black boots, approached the car, a machine gun over his soldier. I wanted to go home. “It is routine,” Plinio said. “It … Then he said, “Look!” In the distance we saw three tiny points of light bobbing their way toward us—three Indians …

… From a Tahitian Commonplace Book Grass and fern underfoot, growing … Here the skilled swimmers ride the surf, their brown bodies lacquered with foams and tropical sunlight. They are no … clung to it, but the hands had rusted away and the numerals on the dial had been effaced by the action of sand and …

… other’s presence, vaguely yet certainly, in the way of animals on opposite sides of an open field, at night. The … for help, a proper introduction is made. Having prepared to die, the two women find themselves adrift on their … as inevitable, even desirable, that their homes should come to resemble the big-box selling floors they frequent. …

… unreasonable to assume,” I wrote in a 1985 essay called “Soldier-Poets of the Vietnam War” (published in VQR, V. 63, No. … Francisco State University) proved that assumption to be false. “Best of all,” I added, “poets like [Bruce] Weigl and … questions is yes. Here is what the poets I discussed have accomplished since I wrote that essay. John Balaban has …