Speakers in James Tate's poems are and are not like those we
know: a man's meditation on gardening renders him witless; another
man traps theories and then lets them loose in a city park; a nun
confides that "it was her / cowboy pride that got her through"; a
gnome's friend inhabits a world where "a great eschatological
ferment is at work. "Shroud of the Gnome" is a bravura performance
in Tate's signature style: playful, wicked, deliriously sober,
charming, and dazzling. Here, once again, one of America's most
masterful poets celebrates the inexplicable in his own strange
tongue.
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