This sense does not improve as the back copy goes on to say that, though the author is a leading force in a revival of rhyme and meter, he doesn't necessarily use them so much himself. One begins to expect double messages, a complication of careerism as much as of a psychological type. However, it would be difficult to count the number of times that back copy poorly represented a book, so the writer opened the the cover with its intriguing cover art by Christopher Pekoc, covering both it and the boyish photograph of Gioia on the back. Since this is a brief look rather than an analytic review, one may as well go front to back. The line itself, as many of those following, is difficult to measure metrically, as though the first half-lines are iambic feet and the second free verse.
Variation is necessary for good verse, but too much muddles the sound.
This critic also doesn't much care for poems about writing and words, which seem better for private reflection than publication. This is lovely blank verse, with variations that enliven it rather than with forced effects. When you read Yvor Winters poems, you may begin to feel as though you're being hit over the head with their hard, regular beat. It's about speculation, not answers. Frequently employed by Dickinson, such rhyme has a forward movement rather like wind through high grasses, a fine counterpart to the subject, the narrator's interrogation of himself.