<DIV><p>"If McHugh is serious, she's anything but grim; with all her punning, bantering, and mock scolding of herself . . . she brightens the shadowy corners of her world with verbal pyrotechnics."?<I>The New York Times Book Review</I></p><p>"Her poems are open, resilient, invisibly twisted: part safety net, part trampoline."?<I>Village Voice Literary Supplement</I></p><p>This fast-paced, verbally dexterous book?honored as a "Book of the Year" by <I>Publishers Weekly</I>?"boils up and boils over" as it utilizes medical terminology and iconography to work through loss and detachment. Heather McHugh's startling rhymes and rhythms, coupled with her sarcastic self-reflection and infectious laughter, serve as both palliative and prophylactic in the face of human sufferings and ignorance. Being "upgraded to serious" from critical condition is a nod to the healing powers of poetry.</p><p><B>"Not to Be Dwelled On"</B></p><p><I>Self-interest cropped up even there,<BR>the day I hoisted three instead<BR>of the ceremonially called-for two<BR>spadefuls of loam<BR>onto the coffin of my friend.</I></p><p><I>Why shovel more than anybody else?<BR>What did I think I'd prove? More love<BR>(mud in her eye)? More will to work?<BR>(her father what, a shirker?) Christ,<BR>what wouldn't anybody give<BR>to get that gesture back?</I></p><p><I>She cannot die again; and I<BR>do nothing but re-live.</I></p><p><B>Heather McHugh</B> is the author of a dozen books of poetry and translation. She teaches at the University of Washington and Warren Wilson College and lives in Seattle, Washington.</p><BR></DIV>