Walcott’s collected poems vividly bring to life his day-to-day experiences. As James Dickey wrote in a New York Times book review, “He could turn his attention on anything at all and make it live with a reality beyond its own.”
A wonderful collection. From “Bleecker Street,” one of my favorites:
Summer of prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor,
for the eternal idleness of the imagined return,
for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom
of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin!
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1987.