Wistful, and well-mannered, and sad, and loving, these poems give me the sense that I am in the presence of a fellow human being, one with a big soul. There is humility here, in the best sense of the word. The poet knows his strengths and doesn't hide them (that would be false humility)-- but he also confronts, sometimes quite directly, not only his own mortal smallness, but also the likelihood of his poems dying out one day.

There is a lot of Ecclesiastes here.

It feels as if I know a lot about Koethe after reading this collection--although his is not at all what I would call autobiographical or confessional poetry, it is strongly of a specific time and place, and it describes the historic circumstances of Koethe's life, and it uses the benchmarks and collective memories of people of his age and times. His experience is more refined and more erudite than mine, but recognizable as a history shared. There is a clearness of vision about the past, free of nostalgia, yet full of love.

I feel this poet would be a good friend of mine, if I had the privilege of knowing him, and although I don't have any friends currently who own even one navy blazer. ( )