She was writing a farewell to an admired poet, but could not use any of his work on the blog since his family had requested that it not be quoted. (for the near future?)
Instead of going to his website, as she suggested, I just bought the book. Happily. It's my cup of tea. Very spare, acerbic, not an extra word anywhere, sort of depressed, but full of gumption. The story of a man who's dying, but still living, of his sickness, his curiosity, his vitality. He walks down the street, one step at a time, lies in bed dying, one breath, another, he doesn't die, more long, slim poems, his dog scratches herself on the kitchen floor, pared down, straight lines. No extraneous words.
I have very little love for words. And think that sentences should be pared down as much as possible and even then they don't say much. As I tell a poet friend, I think words are miserable, lying bastards. But I still love them, in limited quantity. And Jack Wiler surely limits his quantity.
He has another book. It was more expensive and I bought this one since it's the one that Sarah had mentioned. Thanks!