I’ve held off reading the last few poems in
Jack Gilbert’s latest (The Dance Most of All) for months. Literally. Gilbert is one of those rare touchstone authors I was just ruminating about (finishing this book, in fact, inspired those brief thoughts) and– as much as I hate to mention it again– I really do worry, selfishly, that this might be his last.
Many of the poems in this collection convey a sense of finality. Not of the end, but of ending. Of being able to accept the ineffable and...
Share it
Read the Full Story at Cosmopoetica
embed
