On a gut level, a true mark of a great book is when I am so inspired that I want drop everything and rush off and write my own poems. Lately, though, I've been enduring dulled bouts of disillusionment where rarely any collections have sparked my attention. Then I came across Ed Roberson's radiant "City Eclogue" and language became revitalized again. He's a stunning poet--this collection outdoes "Atmosphere Conditions" which was already an impressive book. I'm also impressed with Peter Gizzi's Oppen-echoing collection "The Outernationale."

The collection also provides a little bio on Roberson--he's worked as a limnologist, a diver for the Pittsburgh Aquazoo, and the Pittsburgh steel mills. A much more interesting bio than cataloguing his publishing history.