James Wright, of Ohio, has been to Vienna, to Verona, to Sirmio, never forgetting Ohio, which sounds as sweet as any of them. Of Verona's Adige he writes,

              This is another river
              I can still see flow by.
 
              The Ohio must have looked
              Something like this
              To the people who loved it
              Long before I was born.

It must, it must; though in an unexpectedly weak book ["To a Blossoming Pear Tree"] this poet who has shown strength in the past is making little effort to reach for the feel of that "must have."

The present collection goes better when anecdotal material can carry itself. Wright was waiting for a bus in the cold, and a young Sioux with a hook for a hand was good to him….

              Did you ever feel a man hold
              Sixty-five cents
              In a hook,
              And place it
              Gently
              In your freezing hand...