These poems disarm me. I come to them like any reader might, "bowing to the terrible world," only to find Rothman whispering "Now you must give up those cares for charms." Through it all, these fine poems set me to shivering with recognition and laughing aloud at the many and varied ways the poet turns his wry plow at the end of a line's furrow. Rothman has tremendous control of music, tone, and angle of approach to his subjects, proof "A man knows...
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Poetry