From Publishers Weekly
If Garrison Keillor were in his early 30s, hailed from Texas and had a terrific sense of the poetic narrative line, Winter's debut might be his latest dispatch. From a sestina based on the names of "My Women" to "Hair Club for Corpses," the book exudes "the smell of Aramis and tweed,/ and, for some strange reason, ketchup."
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From the Publisher
FROM THE PUBLISHER Advance praise for Maine:
I like Winter's conversational drive, his variety of subject matter, and his assertive but wacky voice ... Jonah Winter is unafraid to have a good time in his poems, and that is fortunate, because a sometimes overlooked law of poetic composition is that the more fun the writer has, the more fun the reader will have. In a sense [his poems] test the limits of silliness; on a deeper level they explode the notion that writing in a strict verse form acts as an inhibition or signifies a conservative bent of mind. - David Lehman, from his introduction