Gary, who is fond of the poetry of the late George Oppen (1908-1984), brought me this--from a notice by critic High Kenner, written the year Oppen died.
"The things he sees," wrote Carl Rakosi [a poet-friend of Oppen's]
"feels like the gnarled bark of an oak tree. The tree is there, too. You can put your weight against it. It won't give,"
