With the possible exception of Billy Collins, Ted Kooser must be the most accessible and enjoyable major poet in America. His lines are so clear and simple that, in comparison, even Robert Frost sounds like Mallarmé. The captious might complain that Kooser is prosy, that his work doesn’t exhibit enough razzle-dazzle to count as real poetry, yet how can you read “Painting the Barn” — a poem about death — and not marvel at its understated beauty?
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