i picked this up last summer when i was temping at a publishing company, and i started to read it but never ﬁnished. the book is comprised of two extended poems, one, one dated 1962 and one 1974, each made up of 45 smaller poems. the two series of images and memories and dreamlike scenarios don’t seem like solid pieces in themselves. the individual poems feel incomplete and arranging them together does not make the extended poems feel any more whole. somehow he manages to remember these moments in clear detail without becoming nostalgic. i feel just as distant from it all.