That her poems are, some of them, highly sophisticated toys, or that the custodians of magazine sophistication have from time to time found her typescripts not incompatible with the chic curiosities they market, should blind no intent reader to Marianne Moore’s invigorating probity. The least poem of hers is no more pointless than a fine Swiss watch, an instrument which performs, it is true, in a time of Saturn boosters, no conspicuously useful displacement of matter.
A Marianne Moore Reader. Viking, $6.95
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