In these playful, conversational poems, Billy Collins immerses us in the minutiae of a life–cow viewing, parsley chopping, “buzzing around on espresso”–and restores a sense of wonder. In a voice half confessional, half avuncular, he takes us by the hand and shares his deepest secrets. Whether shoveling snow with the Buddha, releasing Emily Dickinson from her corsets, spoofing Auden and Wordsworth, or putting words in the mouths of Victoria’s Secret models (”So what if I am wearing nothing / but this stretch panne velvet bodysuit … Do you have a problem with that?!”), Collins is a pure delight. In one of several poems in which jazz figures prominently, he amusingly considers well-known but ne’er-acknowledged facial expressions such as “the languorous droop,” “pained concentration,” and “existential bemusement.” Similarly, in “Marginalia” he caps off a list of scribblings with a pointed request for all to step forward who “have managed to graduate from college / without ever having written ‘Man vs. Nature’” in a margin.

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