Ron Padgett's poems are remarkably clear, almost invisibly so, like a refreshing glass of cold water--poems in which he goes nit-picking with the OED, uses Tulsa plain-speak in the diction of Blaise Cendrars, turns and looks back at the food he has set out and sees it is a painting by Fairfield Porter, builds his wooden dream house, and all a little askew, as the world is. His GREAT BALLS OF FIRE have become indeed THE BIG SOMETHING.

Poetry.