Very good things in the Vancouver section of the recent Golden Handcuffs Review, especially by Robin Blaser and Meredith Quartermain. All my "yes pleases" getting some Quartermain shortly.

Meanwhile, out of the Harvard Review I'm very slow to let go of poems by Stephen Burt and William Logan among others: the central conceit of Burt's "Tarmac with Soundtrack" figures art as a porcelain airplane that delivers to us the grim truths of life we otherwise would set aside. Logan recollects childhood. Not remembering too much of his poem off the top of my head -- the word conquistador, imagining a rattlesnake in his American Northeast backyard -- but I do take away from this poem as with the others of his I've seen the past few years a persistent sense of vulnerability, a connection between wonder and power. Not the tortured brooding judge his prose led me to expect.