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Poetry. In these pieces, the world is brought, but only half-way. Flickering, shifts, ambiguities prevent the reader from looking at the poem from the outside, as he or she might a snapshot or postcard; instead the reader must enter it, must become part of the view, an element in the landscape... As one goes down into the sentence, one goes into the world, in which bodies, themselves landscapes, begin to fray, become an unraveling zone between the word and the world and become also the poem itself a bridge between body and world --Cole Swenson. Then sleep and voice and everyone with it fading./ The red barn at the top of the brown hill./ The skidding bicyclist./ An unfinished block of wood (meant to be a calf)/ forgotten in the garage.// I made a simple set of rules. Couldn't follow them./ A stiff night-wind rattles the eucalyptus hillside (Simple Set of Rules).

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