I take joy in considering my generation. I rewrite to be read, though I feel shame acknowledging it. Scattered among imposing trees, the ancient and the modern intersect, spreading germs of pain and happiness. I curl up in my fleece and drink. The poems collected in Gravity and Center represent thirty years of work by one of America's finest living poets. Henri Cole has reconceived and mastered his own version of the sonnet. As he explains in his afterword, I believe a poem is a sonnet if it behaves like one, and this doesn't mean rhyming iambic pentameter lines. More important is the psychological dimension, the little fractures and leaps and resolutions the poem enacts . . . For some reason the lean, muscular body of the sonnet frees me to be simultaneously dignified and bold, to appear somewhat socialized though what I have to say may be eccentric or unethical, and, most important of all, to have aesthetic power while writing about the tragic situation of the individual in the world. Cole is both confessional and abstract, intimate and cosmopolitan, astringent and open to beauty. Whether he is writing about the contingencies of selfhood, the lives of animals and plants, or the violent events of the world, there is always the incandescence of language.