"It is tempting to think of Carruth as a latter-day Robert Frost - a crusty old New Englander brimming with wit and wisdom. Carruth's wit is less apothegmatic, though, and his wisdom seems harder won and more personal. He never seems, as Frost did, to be an old master. Quite often, his wisdom consists in acknowledging loss without compensatory understanding. The long poem "Dearest M-," set during the day on which his daughter died, voices a solitary, educated father's grief as forcibly as ever it could be expressed but without histrionics because, finally, this kind of grief is a heavy burden for an old man to bear. Several shorter poems take up other kinds of losses, some to comic rather than sad effect, and others, especially the sequences "Faxes to William" and "While Reading Basho," pretty much demonstrate that, what with the pleasures--the pains, too! - of memory, the garden, and art (for Carruth, primarily poetry and jazz), an old guy can sometimes think he is content. This is...

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