“Marilyn Krysl's poetry is funny, funky, tragic, brave, lyrical, humane, political, and full of surprises. The poems about the People's Republic of China, in this volume, are especially remarkable, whether they are talking back to Mao, or looking at boats glide over a lake at Hangzhou. And she is still writing the liveliest sestinas in America.” —Alicia Ostriker

Her great, rambunctious sestinas anticipate ‘New Formalism’, but, I their modulated wildness and their disciplined strangeness, they are better than any of it.” —Jonathan Holden

West Lake, Hangzhou

Is that Bach? Is this evening? Isn't Bach blue, isn't
the lake lovely. In this heat. The air
above the water almost steams. Those boats
go slower. Dusk, one long swatch of chamber
music, laid across water. If there's a better
way, we haven't found it. Standing, burning,

here on the balcony, you discover you're happy. The burning
lotus blossoms light the lake. Isn't
this evening blue beyond belief? Better
than being in love is being here, in love. The air
holds still, giving us sweet time: a chamber
maid tinkling keys in the hall. Those boats

are nothing if not beautiful. A scattering of boats
completes a lake, your hand completes my burning
shoulder. Say the charge enters the chamber,
fills the space to bursting. Some will say this isn't
so, lake not lovely, light and air
less than crystal clear. Doubters. (Better

to die, get it over.) Where could be better
than here: the mosquitoes don't bite (it's true!), boats
have no motors. The dip of oars and a Bach aire
riffling my blood. Leaves of the banana burning
like beaten brass in my fortieth year. Isn't
this the body the gods intended? The chamber

where they lie down with us? Listen: in the chamber
of the ear a continuous tune. If there's a better
restaurant, we'll find it tonight. The question isn't
when, but how good can it get. Say we let the boats
decide, flung white stones of I Ching: burn
of the day in our blood, the lotus closing, air

lifting like swallows joined at the wing, the air
beginning to cool, lights coming on, chamber
music (not bad!) somewhere below us, and the burning
bridge behind. Doing it's always better
than not. Afterward you go on, and where there are boats
who needs a bridge? What good's a shoulder, if it isn't

burning? Isn't the chamber of a lover's arms
blue beyond belief? Isn't a hexagram
of boats, afloat on air, better even than Bach?