[In The Gourd Dancer Momaday] achieves a memorable evocation of indigenous rhythms and emotion in a numer of poems, while turning Janus-faced in a second style to the Anglo-American tradition of "fine" writing. What is remarkable is his ability to fuse both styles into a third. The technical temptation to do so must have been irresistible, and it is true that in some cases an uneasy feeling of déjà vu troubles the reader. Yet before analysis one's realization is seldom that an Indian image rises, is joined by an English Lit metaphysical idea before or during the act of writing, and the union bears fruit.

It is always a pleasure to find the last poems of a young writer's book significantly finer than the first, as occurs here with the sophisticated final section "Anywhere is a street into the night," deriving now no more than token inspiration...